


Are You Coming to the Tree ?

by dandelionpower



Series: Some Pure Love in a Cruel World [3]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: 18th Century Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, True Love, it can be emotionally difficult to read, sensitive heart? just dont read it, there are tags I cannot put because I dont want to spoil the ending but be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionpower/pseuds/dandelionpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 1707 in Europe where being gay is a crime and a sin against God and is worth your very life to acknowledge that you feel this way, let alone let anyone know that you love a tall skinny man with soft dark curls and dancing brown eyes. </p><p>Dean, the only son of a rich family, has had his heart stolen by Aidan, his best friend since childhood and the son of a farmer. That they have managed to be together at all is a miracle in itself. For twelve years they have found a way to hide their love, but the secret is out and it has turned deadly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Soldier and the Raven

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll enjoy this eighteenth-century AU. Feel free to leave comments, I'll answer to all of them.
> 
> The story takes place in an entirely fictional town, any similarities with real places or real persons are fortuitous. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, the lovely BlueButterfly, for her relevant comments that helped me a lot.

 

_St-Peter's Town  
1707_

 

"You better keep your head down" Aidan told himself as he walked through the crowd. The crowd divided to let him pass, shouting insults, cursing, spitting on him. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to hear them either, but he did anyway. "It's him ! The other sodomite! The perverse shit! May he burn in hell with his whore!" The harsh words sank in his mind like icy water, freezing his agonizing heart just a bit more.

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and in his ribs, he hissed, the villagers were now throwing rocks at him. His first reflex would have been to sit on the ground and let the angry crowd stone him to death him, he had nothing to lose anymore, he was already dead. But he didn't, because he had a thing to do, a very important one, he had to see Dean, his Dean, one more time before it was too late. He had to apologize, to plea, to beg, to do anything. It couldn't change Dean's fate though, nothing could, but he couldn't let him alone, not today. He knew he must be strong, be strong for them two, although he didn't feel strong at all, he felt miserable and broken.  
More rocks were thrown at him, Aidan looked up to face the hate of his fellow citizens and began to run, pushing people out of his path. Someone's fist hit his temple; blinded by the pain he tripped but he didn't fall and he didn't stop. He had to reach the other side of the marketplace before someone could kill him. The crowd became furious, crazy, trying to grab his clothes, to sink their claws into his skin. "You think you hate me" he thought, "but you don't know what real hate is, you will never be able to hate me as much as I loathe you all."

He finally managed to make his way to the prison's door. He was glad (as much as his heart could feel something positive) to see who the guard in front of the door was. McTavish was a person Aidan could have considered as a friend; even if he wasn't sure he still had friends in this village. He was somehow relieved to see that there was only deep sadness on Graham McTavish's face when he saw Aidan, rather than disgust or anger: these expressions Aidan saw on everyone's face since Dean was in jail.  
When Aidan stood in front of the tall Scotsman, people stopped attacking the young man. Nobody in the village was stupid enough to risk the wrath of the blacksmith (recently promoted as a prison guard).

"Go back home Turner, you shouldn't be there" McTavish growled.  
"I want to see him."  
"Go away, you don't help yourself by coming here."  
"I don't give a shit about what people think, I want to see him."  
"I'm not allowed to let anyone in, not even his mother."  
"I MUST SEE HIM !!! Aidan shouted, on the verge of tears. "YOU WILL LET ME IN! OR I SWEAR I'LL…"

The guard grabbed his wrist and twisted it to make him stop this yelling, but not enough to cause pain. "No lad, I can't do this, you know I can't, go away now."

The young man clenched his jaw and whispered between his teeth so only Graham could hear. "Listen to me, I don't care what people think, I don't care if they hit me or throw rocks at me, I'm not worried about myself or my fucking reputation. Tomorrow morning, my best friend will be executed." The tears of rage that he had been holding back for weeks began to roll out of his tired brown eyes. "Tomorrow, Dean will be dead." Aidan's voice broke on the last word. He swallowed and continued. "He is living his last hours and he is alone, all alone. You hear me? Nobody deserves to be alone when they are about to die, even the murderers. If you once had just a little bit of respect for him, or for me, if you have just a little bit of compassion for human kind, as god taught us, you will let me in, Graham."

Graham's face was expressionless, but Aidan thought he heard a faint sigh escape the big man's lips. He released Aidan's wrist and gently pushed him away. "My orders are clear." He said loudly, as he stared coldly at the young desperate man before him. "No one is allowed to see the prisoner; all you can do now is to pray for his soul and for yours."  
"AHAH ! You better pray, Turner! Murderers and sodomites are ending up together in the fire of hell", someone shouted in the crowd.  
Aidan clenched his fists angrily, everybody was letting him down, he knew nothing could change the Scotsman's mind now. Aidan was about to walk away when Graham called him back.

"Wait ! If you go to church…"

McTavish searched in his big leather uniform and took some paper and a charcoal pencil out of his pocket. He wrote something on the piece of paper and reached it out for Aidan to take it.

"Give this to Reverend Blackhawk, and maybe he'll let you pray in the church until tomorrow morning" he added.

"I don't think he'd let a muderer's whore enter his church, let alone the whore of his son's killer" a woman shouted. Her exclamation was followed by several mocking laughs.  
"My place is not with Reverend Blackhawk, or even with God now, my place is with Dean" Aidan growled.

McTavish shook his head and Aidan knew there was no hope here.

He shoved the piece of paper in his pocket and walked away.

"That's it, McTavish! That's a good thing you didn't let him fornicate one more time with his beloved killer, this town has seen enough sins." An old man congratulated the prison guard.

"Let the boy alone now and go mind your own business !" Aidan heard McTavish roar at the villagers.

A couple of people hustled Aidan anyway, whispering venomous insults in his ears but he chose not to pay attention to them.

Two hours later, he was lying down in the hay in his parents' barn, looking blankly at the wooden ceiling. He would certainly not go to the church, whatever McTavish had written on this paper; Reverend Blackhawk wasn't of the forgiving kind. But Aidan's thoughts weren't really fixed on the morning's events; he was only thinking about Dean. Dean occupied all the place in his mind and his heart. Aidan had come here, to the barn, to remember. It was the only way he could be close to Dean right now, by being in a place that had some significance for both of them. He could have go to their tree, the old oak in the meadow where they used to meet in secret, but he didn't because it was a cursed place now. He was here, in the haystacks, because it was the place where they had made love for the first time. Aidan was sixteen, Dean was nineteen. It had been twelve years ago.

 

Dean was back in the village since the morning, he had spent two years in military school and Aidan had not seen him since he left for his training two years ago. Everybody was so proud of Corporal Dean O'Gorman, especially his father who was relieved that his son finally did something good with his life. Good for his own standards, because Aidan knew that Dean had done this semblance of military career only to please his father. Dean was an artist and a gifted one. Aidan had seen all his drawing, his painting and poems, he was the only one Dean agreed to show his artworks to. Dean knew his family couldn't understand who he really was, only Aidan could; he was his best friend after all.

When Dean came back from the military school he was a man, with large shoulders and a thin beard on his cheeks. When Aidan first saw him he was a bit intimidated. Would that manly corporal still want to be the friend and confidant of a skinny dishevelled, wild boy? There was something new in the way Aidan looked at his friend , new thoughts in his mind, new sensations he hadn't experienced yet that were growing in him when he saw Dean, very handsome in his army uniform, coming towards him to greet him with a brotherly hug. It was desire, desire to stay a bit longer against this hard chest, to touch and explore the skin under the uniform.

Those thoughts had scared him because the pastor had admonished countless times in his sermons that only married couples, a man and a woman, were allowed to have this kind of intimacy. But Dean smiled at him and the fear of being rejected disappeared. "You grew up a lot since I left," Dean appraised, stepping back to take a better look at his friend. "You're as tall as me now!" Dean still had this warm smile on his lips, he moved forward and whispered in the boy's ear "You look like a man now, Aidan."  
Aidan didn't feel like a man at all, not in comparison with the muscular soldier who stood before him, but this remark made him blush and a delicious sensation of warmth flooded his young body.

 

That night they were lying in the barn's attic, hidden in the haystacks, lying side by side on some old blankets.

"You received all my letters ?" Dean asked him.

"Yes of course ! At first your mother read them to me but at some point I was tired of it and I asked Mr Armitage, the bookseller, to teach me and after three months I was able to read alone."

Dean straightened to look at his friend. "You learnt how to read in three months?"

"Yeah ! Why?"

"That's really impressive, Aidan! You are a clever little raven, aren't you?"

" A raven? You want to insult me? They are disgusting animals, they eat dead people!"

"That wasn't an insult, they are very wise and clever birds and I think they are beautiful, their black feathers shine in the sun, a bit like your hair sometimes. There was a lot of them where I was, in the fort, they reminded me of you… dark and clever… and noisy."

Aidan threw one of the blankets in Dean's face with an indignant protestation and they burst in laughter. They giggled for several minutes, playfully throwing handfuls of hay in the other's face. Aidan was glad and relieved to note that their friendship hadn't be damaged during the two years of separation.

When they calmed down, Aidan sighed. "You know, I can read now but I can't write yet, that's why I sent you my drawings instead", he told his friend. "I'm not as good as you though".

"Don't worry about that, I loved all your drawings, particularly the ones of our tree, the old oak where we were playing when we were kids, I kept all of them in the inside pocket of my uniform. I could see you were getting better with each drawing you sent me."

They remained silent for a moment. Dean was looking at the ceiling, lost in thoughts, so Aidan took the opportunity admire the beautiful features of his best friend. He felt like he was seeing him for the first time, everything was different.

Aidan had never noticed Dean's lips. Of course he knew they existed, he unconsciously acknowledged their presence in his friend's face, but he never really looked at them, not the way he was looking at them now. They were pink, thin but shapely and they looked very soft and Aidan couldn't help but imagine how they would feel, pressed on his own and this thought made him shiver in a pleasant way. Dean was still looking up, batting his long, elegant blond eyelashes (another thing Aidan never noticed before). Aidan was wondering whether Dean had similar thoughts, whether he was thinking about him.

As if his friend had read in his mind, Dean suddenly turned his head to look at him and asked: "Did you think of me often when I was away Aidan?"

Aidan loved the way Dean was saying his name, with his low and fully formed man's voice.

"I did, every day" the boy admitted, holding his gaze.  
"Me too, I missed you very much" Dean whispered  
Aidan smiled.  
There was another silence before Dean took a deep breath. "Did you think of me every night too? " he asked, nervously.  
"Yes", the dark haired boy replied softly.

Suddenly, Dean's hand was on the back of his neck and his lips were against his, and they were as soft as he imagined and even more.

The pastor's preaching about chastity and sacred marriage had fled his mind. This couldn't be a sin, because it felt so right. It felt like the logical ending of a story, Dean and him were always meant to be together like that. Their lives had necessarily led them to this moment, they had always loved each other, but now that their bodies had grown, they could experience love as adults… and no one had to know.

When they broke the kiss, panting, looking the other's face, trying to read the other's reaction and emotions, Aidan ran a hand through Dean's long golden hair, admiring his clear blue eyes. Then, he caressed his short beard.

"You are so beautiful…" Aidan murmured, with a little jealousy. "I'll never be as handsome as you."

Dean pressed a tender kiss on his forehead and held him tighter in his arms.

"Don't say that, you are very handsome, you took my breath away when I saw you this morning, you are more mature now. You were so young when I left, too young."  
"You already wanted to kiss me before you left?" the boy asked with genuine interest.

"Hum yes, that's one of the reasons I agreed to be enrolled in the army. I wanted to let you grow up away from me, to give you the opportunity to make your own choices."

"But I have always chosen you, even if I couldn't really understand that, until now"

"I know"

"I never had the desire to kiss anyone else but you."

"I know, me neither. I love you Aidan." Dean nuzzled in the young man's hair, humming softly.

Aidan smiled, it was the best day of his life; his best friend, his confidant, the only human being who really knew who he was, in the depths of his soul, the amazing artist he had admired throughout all his childhood, his hero, also wanted to be his lover. "Maybe it's what they call a soul mate…" he thought, he was so happy, the idea that it would be wrong for two men to be soul mates never crossed his mind.

"I want to be your lover, Dean" Aidan decided.

Dean buried his fingers in the dark tousled mane and looked down at the gorgeous young man snuggled in his arms. "That would be an honor, Aidan."

None of them had to mention that they had to keep their relationship secret, it was obvious, they were in love but they weren't stupid.

They exchanged several other passionate kisses, exploring each other with lips, tongues and hands.

After a particularly heated kiss, Dean looked into his young lover's eyes for a long moment and asked him with a voice rough with contained desire. "Do you want me to make you mine, my love?"

Aidan gulped and nodded. He was old enough to understand the meaning of these words and he could trust his instincts to tell him how much he wanted this. "I am yours" he answered in a solemn but shaky voice.

Dean undressed his lover slowly and tenderly without breaking the eye contact, carefully looking for any sign of discomfort or unease, he didn't want to force him into something he didn't fully consent to, but Aidan's eyes were only reflecting love, desire and reverence.

Aidan held his breath and bit his lower lips as Dean took off his own clothes. The blond soldier was definitely more muscular and manly than the last time they swam together in the pond in the Turner's barley field two years ago. Aidan longed to touch this body both familiar and new.

Dean laid down and took Aidan in his arms, eliciting a moan of pleasure from both their throats as their hot and sweaty skins met. The older pushed away a few curls from his lover's face, he cupped his chin in his hand and caressed his lips with his thumb.

Aidan was shivering with anticipation, but he trusted Dean more than everything. They were both inexperienced in sexual matters, but the older made sure his young lover enjoyed everything he did to him this night. They were unsure, clumsy, a little shy but that didn't matter, only the sensation of their bodies, finally so close to each other, skin against skin, together, that was enough to send them over the edge.

Hours later, Dean had his head on Aidan's stomach; the younger man was stroking his hair lovingly. They were both sleepy, exhausted and happy.

"You don't leave again, don't you? Not without me" Aidan asked suddenly, realizing that maybe Dean had to return to the military fort soon. Dean raised his head and looked straight into Aidan's chocolate eyes.

"Never" he swore.

Aidan knew it was a real promise. The next day, Dean sent his resignation letter to his superior, much to his family's disappointment and bewilderment.

 

 

Twelve years later, Aidan was lying at the exact same place; he was remembering that night with fondness and despair.

He closed his eyes, all he could see was Dean's face, Dean's eyes, Dean's smile, his hands when he drew, his fingers stained by ink or soiled by the charcoal. He swore he could also smell his scent, his scent that was a mix of the freshly cut grass Dean liked to lie on under their tree, of the bee wax candles he lit when he wrote poems late at night, the oil paint and the musky and spicy scent of their lovemaking. The unfairness of all this was too much for Aidan, he wasn't able to admit it was over, that he had lost his lover forever.

He couldn't accept this. He was afraid, petrified, a blind rage was boiling in his veins, an uncontrollable anger against the stupid people of his town, too stupid to mind their own business. People that would kill the man he loved… tomorrow morning… tomorrow morning…TOMORROW MORNING.

Aidan slammed the wooden floor with his fist, punched it again and again, screaming like a mad man until the blood begin dripping all over his hand from his injured knuckles. He allowed himself to cry for an hour, his head resting against his knees, until he fell asleep, exhausted.

When he woke up, he realised with utter horror that the sun had almost disappeared below the horizon. Dean's last night had begun.


	2. The Hidden Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan shivered because of the cold, the memory, but also from fear and guilt. It was his fault, entirely his fault, that Dean was in jail, living his last hours. He shouldn't have run away like Dean asked him, he should have stayed with him. His immobility and the sensation of discomfort brought back atrocious images in his mind, those images he had tried to keep a distance during most of the last weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks and several hugs to the super lovely BlueButterfly who courageously beta this fic like a boss despite her health issues !! Cheers to you girl ! 
> 
> If you like this fic, please comment, you would make my day ! 
> 
> I'm sorry, this chapter is not very long. For me, writing in English is a very long process.

 

St-Peter's Town  
1707

When Aidan woke up, he realised with utter horror that the sun had almost disappeared below the horizon. Dean's last night had begun.

 

He got out of the barn. There was still a thin line of gold above the horizon, the last remains of the sunset. The moon was already in the sky, like a sordid reminder that Dean's living hours were slipping away and that Aidan was helpless to retain them.

 

He had found a whale oil lantern in the barn and lit it with a flint lighter. When he put the lighter in the pocket of his long navy blue coat, he realized that the piece of paper McTavish gave him was still there. He had almost forgotten its existence. He took it and he was about to burn it with in the lantern's flame but something held him back. Instead, he unfolded it and read.

"Meet me at midnight at the prison's food supply door, come alone, be subtle ".

His heart jumped in his chest, had McTavish changed his mind? There was only one way to know: showing up there at midnight, but it was still some hours until then.

Aidan walked across the garden in the direction of his parents' house. He could see candle lights through the windows. He had to wait for his parents to go to sleep before getting in the house to avoid any contact with them. The last time he saw them, there had been screams, tears, insults and broken dishes. The Turners couldn't stand their son's stubborn need to seek the company of a jailed murderer while he should repent for his deviant sexuality and clear his name. Because he could clear his name, with a considerable effort, but still. Unfortunately, not only did he not seem to be repentant at all, but he sought to continue to be associated with a man who had committed the most horrible of all crimes. Something was irretrievably broken between him and his parents; maybe time, a lot of time, would be able to fix it but Aidan seriously doubted it.

About an hour later, Aidan entered his former house by the unlocked backdoor. He didn't bother tiptoeing; he knew his parents knew he was there. Since Dean was in jail, he used to come in after they were asleep and leave the house before sunrise. He grabbed some supplies and put them in a leather bag he found in the barn and left as fast as he could.

Aidan walked down the road that was leading to the market place, hiding in the shadows every time he thought he heard someone coming. He was a very popular man these days, and not in a particularly good way. He couldn't go anywhere without being bullied, and now the circumstances required that nobody knew he was there in that precise moment.  
He saw no one on the streets though. Even stray dogs seemed to have disappeared.

The town was nearly too calm. There were usually two or three drunken idiots near the tavern, brawling ribald songs, clinging to each other and trying to get home on their two legs, but tonight, there was no one. "They are all asleep; they want to be fully rested for tomorrow at sunrise. They surely don't want to miss the show," Aidan thought with bitterness. St. Peters hadn't seen a public execution for forty years. In this little country town where the distractions were rare, Dean's execution was a spectacle the public looked forward to. All the villagers would be there to spit their venom on the love of his life, Aidan knew it. Yes, they would be all there, except Mr and Mrs O'Gorman maybe…

Aidan hid in a shed next to the church, where he could see the clock on the front of the town hall. There was nobody around but Aidan stayed silent and still, in the chilly air of October, until his back and legs get sore.

Aidan shivered because of the cold, the memory, but also from fear and guilt. It was his fault, entirely his fault, that Dean was in jail, living his last hours. He shouldn't have run away like Dean asked him, he should have stayed with him. If Aidan had been arrested, at least he could have been with Dean now, in the same prison. Maybe he could be able to talk to him, comfort him. His immobility and the sensation of discomfort brought back atrocious images in his mind, those images he had tried to keep a distance during most of the last weeks. There was blood, and screams, and Dean's coat covered with blood, and the knife in his hand, and Dean's angry voice that shouted at him to go. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AIDAN !! "

The images of that horrible day flooded his mind even if he tried to push them away…

 

……………..

 

Aidan was on his way to the tavern that morning. He had to negotiate the purchase of a piece of land on his father's behalf. He was walking down the street, his hand in his pockets, humming a joyful song, the temperature was brilliant and the negotiations promised to be easy and quick. Aidan didn't know that four hours later, he would lose everything.

 

He heard someone calling his name and turned around; he grinned and felt his heart warming up when he saw Dean speed up to catch him.

"What are you up to, so early this morning? Are you planning on a romantic walk with the pretty Susan? " Dean teased him.

Aidan smiled, they liked to make fun of each other about their imaginary dates. A 28-year-old and a 31-year-old man who didn't persue girls could make people suspicious, so they told their family they were seeing some girls around, sometimes bringing flowers to the actual girls, taking them for a walk with one of their sisters or cousins as a chaperon. Innocent courtships that never went further than that though. Many girls in town thought that the very gorgeous Aidan Turner (or maybe the handsome and elegant Dean O'Gorman), could have been quite a catch and had taken their chances, but all of them had been pulled off by the lack of real interest. The two men had always been real gentlemen, polite, sweet and kind with the ladies but their hearts secretly belonged elsewhere.

"No actually I have to talk to the old M. Gerthsby, Father and I want to buy the rye fields the other side of the river."

"The Turner empire extends its borders I can see." Dean commented proudly. Aidan nodded.

Dean lowered his voice and asked "Are you coming to the tree ? I'll be there to finish some sketches. I would be glad if you kept me company, I cannot wait to have you in my arms."

Aidan looked at his lover, he was so beautiful in the September morning light, with that hopeful smile and those blue eyes that could put the bright fall sky at shame. He wanted to kiss him right away but he didn't do it. They always had to be careful, but Aidan felt confident and bold so he took Dean's hand and gave it a little squeeze and gratified him with a tender and meaningful look.

They heard laughter in the distance and Dean let his hand go like if it was poisoned. What if someone had seen them ? Aidan wondered.

"See you later! " Dean said nervously and they parted their way.

Aidan brushed off his worries and got to the Olde Goose. The town's tavern was practically deserted at that time of the day. There were just one or two regulars, seated in the corners. Katherine, the landlady, gave Aidan a pint of her finest ale and the young man savored it slowly. He waited there for about two hours and a half but strangely, Gerthsby never showed up. The young man had paid his drink and was about to go when he saw three men walking towards him like they owned the place. Aidan let out a low growl when he recognised Timothy Blackhawk, the pastor's son, a bulky idiot who fancied himself as the sheriff of St. Peter's parish, even if he never had such title. As always, he was flanked by his equally stupid sidekicks, the Barker's brothers, John and William, the last was not much more than seventeen.

"What are you doing here, Turner ?" Blackhawk asked. Everything from the tone of voice to his attitude was offensive.

"I'm here for business." Aidan answered simply, trying to stay polite as much as possible.

"And it's none of my business huh ? I was just wondering why anybody would want to sell something to a molly like you…"

The insult burnt Aidan's guts like acid. The word "mollies" was used to designate effeminate men, who usually liked to dress like women and who met in clandestine places to seek sexual intercourses. Aidan had never considered himself has one of them and the insult was a particularly hurtful one.

"What are you talking about?" Aidan snapped back, trying to contain the shaking rage in his voice.

"You think we don't know the disgusting things you do with O'Gorman behind closed doors?"

Aidan somehow successfully managed not to show the fear that was rising in him faster than a galloping horse.

"You have no proof of what you're saying, get yer sorry arse gone !"

The three men laughed. "You'll pay for that, little sissy," Blackhawk threatened him before skulking away.

Aidan had to find Dean right now, to warn him. They had been able to keep their relationship as a secret for twelve years, in a little town like St. Peter it was a bloody miracle. Of course some people, their parents to start with, were probably suspecting what was going on, but they never voiced these thoughts, because talking about it would have been to acknowledge the possibility this could be the truth, and they didn't want to attract people's attention on what could be the end of their good reputation.

This had to happen one day… "but not today ! Please !" Aidan pleaded as he headed to their tree. Dean was surely already there, waiting for him.

Their old oak was in the middle of a little meadow, the other side of the woods, and was surrounded by swamp land that couldn't be cultivated. Nobody ever came here. It was the perfect place for them to be alone together and they never feared to be discovered there.

Aidan started to panic when he saw that Dean wasn't there.

What could he do now? He sat and rested his back against the trunk and waited for what seemed to be an eternity, twisting his fingers like every time he was nervous.  
When he heard footsteps in the grass, he sighed in relief. He stood up and turned around to greet his lover.

 

He froze, that wasn't Dean.

 

"That's where you two are hiding to commit your sins against nature? Where is O'Gorman? You are all alone Turner? Has he found another little friend to play with?" Blackhawk commented and his acolytes laughed, grinning like wolves facing a trapped deer.

Before Aidan could react, Blackhawk grabbed him by the wrist and pinned him against the tree trunk. "I'll show you respect of the laws of god" he said in a hateful whisper. Aidan turned his face away from the breath that smelled like bad wine.

"What gives you the right to apply the divine laws, disgusting bastard?" Aidan asked him.  
Blackhawk didn't answered and spat in Aidan's face.

"You don't know what happens to buggers like you in London, don't you? They are publicly whipped, and sometimes they hang them… but I'm feeling merciful Turner, I'll spare you the public humiliation."

"Hold him still John !" Blackhawk ordered the eldest Barker.

Aidan tried to escape, but Barker punched him in the face and Aidan lost the map for a couple of second, giving his aggressor the opportunity to pin him again against the trunk. While Barker was holding him, Blackhawk took a hunting knife out of his pocket and he cut down the fabric of Aidan's white shirt, also cutting the skin in several places. Aidan hissed from the sharp pain, trying unsuccessfully to escape from Barker's iron fist.

"Ok now, turn him around, help your brother, Will !" Blackhawk ordered the younger brother, who was obviously uncomfortable with the whole thing. The brothers smashed Aidan's torso against the tree and held his arm to each side of the trunk. He could hear Blackhawk forage in the branches, he was searching for something and then the realisation make the dark haired man stiffen with fear. He was searching for a good flexible branch to beat him. John Barker let out a little laugh, "That will not be so bad Turner, I bet you love it, the pain, like when O'Gorman fucks you in the arse!"

Aidan quickly estimated his chances to escape, William Barker was obviously the weakest of three, he was a nervous and pale skinny boy, easy to unsettle, surely the easiest to fight. Under Aidan's right foot there was a stone, just the perfect size to fit in his hand.

The first blow on his bare back was so painful, Aidan screamed, but he took the advantage of the distraction to quickly pull his right hand out of William's grip and to grab the stone under his foot. They were three against one, but they had made the mistake to underestimate Aidan's vivacity and agility. He hit John in the face with the rock and he heard his nose breaking as the man let go of his arm and stepped away, blinded by pain and blood. Aidan tried to run away but, in a bold move, the younger brother grabbed him by the waist and made him trip and tumble to the ground with his body weight. Blackhawk was rushing towards them and Aidan panicked, he had to escape William's grip before having to face two enemies. In a move to defend his life, he hit the boy's head with the rock with all his strength, but it was too late because Blackhawks was on him, his hands around Aidan's neck, trying to strangle him.

"You had to take the punishment like a brave boy but you are a poor bugger who doesn't deserve to live." He tightened his grip and Aidan choked. He was dying and all he could think about was Dean, he hadn't had the time to warn him. What if they found him and hurt him, or worse? That was an unbearable thought. He was about to pass out but he struggled with all the force he still had, screaming in his mind. "DEAN !!! NO !! DEAN !!! Where are you ?...I must…I must…"

 

Suddenly, for an unknown reason Blackhawks spat blood in his face and Aidan could breathe again. Aidan rolled on his side and coughed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He coughed, tried to breathe more, coughed again. He heard screams and fighting but he wasn't able to move, his body completely focused on the task of filling his lungs with air.  
Aidan jumped violently and panted with terror when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Aidan!!?? Aidan ? Please, talk to me!"

He relaxed a bit without knowing why; Aidan's mind was still clouded by the lack of air and his vision was blurred by the tears and all he could think was "This person is not threatening but seems really worried".

He coughed a couple more times; the foreign hand was now soothingly rubbing the back of his neck. The gentleness of the caress was familiar for Aidan and he knew with relief that he had finally found Dean.

His lover had probably seen the long wound across his back because he heard him cursing with anger.

After a couple of minutes Aidan was able to sit by himself. Dean put a kiss of relief on his lover's forehead and that was when Aidan realised he was sitting next to corpses; Tim Blackhawk and William Barker.

His eyes widened with horror when he saw that John was also lying dead nearby and when he noticed that Dean's coat was stained with blood.

"You… you killed them all!!" Aidan realized, panicking again.

"No, not all of them." Dean answered softly, caressing his cheek, hoping that would calm Aidan's shock, because Dean didn't want to lie to the younger man. "Blackhawk was about to kill you and I couldn't let him do that and Barker attacked me with a knife, I had no choice, but the younger Barker was already dead when I arrived".

Aidan blanched. "NO!!! It was me ! I hit him with a stone !! That's horrible !! I… I…. "

Dean pulled him in his arms and rocked him gently. "Sshh! I wasn't there but I know you, you are a gentle soul my love, I know you were only trying to defend yourself." Dean tried to soothe him with a calm, low voice. "Now you are going to tell me exactly what happened."

And Aidan told him.

 

When Aidan finished his narration, Dean helped him up and looked around. Aidan could tell he was thinking very hard, he was also shaking in anger. Dean couldn’t stand that someone had threatened is lover's life and had tried to torture him.

Dean put his knife, the one he usually used to sharpen his drawing pencils and that was now covered in human blood, back in his bag. He took Aidan by the shoulders and looked him straight in his hazelnut eyes, making sure he was listening. "Look now, that's what we will do, your shirt is ruined, you will take mine. Then, you will go home like nothing happened; you will tell your parents that you were in the fields, inspecting the newborn lambs. You don't tell anyone that you were here or that you saw anything. Are we clear on this? "

"And you ?" Aidan asked, unsure, putting on Dean's elegant white shirt with wide sleeves and lace cuffs. The younger man definitely didn't like the way the conversation was going.

"I'll deal with it " Dean sighed.

"But I killed the boy, you didn't" Aidan protested.

"No, Aidan" Dean answered slowly but firmly "listen to me, you couldn't kill him because you weren't there, remember? You never came here, you understand? "

Aidan eyes widened as he realized Dean's intentions. "No! I cannot let you do that. "

"Hush ! Yes you will. Don't try to play the hero or we will both end up in trouble. It's better that only one is in trouble than the two of us, don't you think? "

"Why you instead of me?"

"Because I am the one who kissed you first, it's me who put you in that situation…. and because I love you."

"That doesn't give you the right to deal with all of this on your own. "

"Yes it does, don't whine and go home now." Dean snapped, with irritation in his voice.

"You know I won't" Aidan stubbornly replied, not moving an inch.

Dean's eyes suddenly gone mad with anger, "YOU'RE DEAF OR WHAT ? GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AIDAN !!!!" That was the first time Dean shouted at him and Aidan was already so shocked, panicked and lost that he did as ordered and he ran away.

That was the last time he had seen Dean.

 

Three men of the village were missing and their family started to look for them. They searched for three days, until an unusual gathering of crows in a specific area of the woods attract people attention. That's how they found the bodies under the old oak.

Two farmers had met Dean O'Gorman three days earlier on the road that led from the woods to the town, shirtless under a coat covered with blood. When one of the farmers asked him where this blood was coming from, Dean told them that he had just killed a pig. They had found this story quite fishy. The O'Gormans were healthy land owners; they had farm boys and servants to do that kind of dirty job...

Three days later, Dean was arrested. Aidan knew his lover better than anyone else, Dean was a very intelligent and foxy man, he wasn't stupid enough to tell such a tale and hope that people would believe it. Aidan fully realized what Dean's real plan was from the start, he was going to sacrifice himself, take all the blame and protect Aidan even it meant he had to die to achieve it. As soon as Dean was arrested, the rumors that were only whispers before became public gossip. Dean O'Gorman was a monster who killed three men of the community; everything was good to blacken his reputation and rumors spread, in St. Peter's and the other parishes around, like fire in a barn. Aidan heard several wacky stories about Dean raping children and practicing black sorcery; sacrifying hens to demons like the slaves were doing in the colonies. But the most recurrent rumor was the matter of Dean's sexual attraction to men, and because Aidan was his closest friend, all fingers were pointing on him. Soon, the whole town assumed that they had an affair. However, Dean had played his card well and even if there were whispers about the possibility that Aidan was his accomplice in the murders, there was no real way to link him with the crimes.

 

…………………

 

When the clock made the first stroke of midnight, Aidan jumped, violently pulled back into reality.

Aidan lost no time and extricated from his hiding place in the church's shed. He ran towards the prison building, using the shadows of the houses and the stone walls to remain unseen. Aidan himself, with his dark beard, his long navy blue cloak and his black felt tricorn, looked like a shadow, a shadow with a heart beating almost too fast with mixed fear and hope.

Graham McTavish was there, waiting outside with a displeased expression.

"Nobody saw you ?" He asked as soon as he saw the young man stepping in the moonlight.  
"Not a single cat."  
Graham took a look around, making sure Aidan said the truth. The street was silent.  
"Come in."

The tall man pushed Aidan in and quickly closed the door behind them. He grabbed Aidan's collar and pinned him against the nearest wall.

"Not a word about this, to anyone. If someone knows I helped a murderer, my family will be banished, I can be arrested. You must keep this as a secret and you must swear you will not try to help him escape or I swear you'll regret you were born," he growled with a menacing voice.

Aidan nodded. "Your secret is safe with me, and I swear I have no intention to do such a thing. I'm just grateful you did this for us."

"I did this because I respect his family and yours, Mrs O'Gorman and Mrs Turner been very kind to my wife when we lost Tom and Felicia from the fever."  
Aidan nodded again, taking off his headgear.

"Follow me" McTavish ordered.

"How is he?" Aidan couldn't help but ask while they were following a long dark corridor.

"As well as a man sentenced to death could be I guess," he sighed, "he doesn't complain and he thanks me every time I bring him his meal. He asked me a few times if you came to see him and I said you tried every day since he was there."

They reached a wooden door, Graham put his hand on the handle and looked at Aidan with a deep sadness in his eyes.  
"You have three hours, not a minute more. I'll let you alone with him but when the three hours are over I'll come back and you will have to go immediately. I trust you Turner, don't do anything foolish."

"I would never do anything that could stain your family's reputation."

Graham opened the door and they entered the room in which was the only cell of the prison (St.Peters never needed more than one).

 

Dean was looking outside the barred window and he turned around when he heard the door open.

"Someone wanted to see you, O'Gorman" Graham said as Aidan stepped out from behind the tall man.

 

 

To be continued…


	3. The Old Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three hours is a ridiculously short time to express the love of a lifetime. There is no good way to say those things, no perfect way to say goodbye when you're nothing much than a hopeless human.

_St-Peter town's prison, November 1707_

Dean's face lightened up. "Aidan!!! You're here!! I can't believe it! They said you were not allowed to see me."

Aidan offered him a weak smile as Graham unlocked the cell's door to let him in. The young man noticed that his lover's astonishing ocean blue eyes were now gray, dim and tired. His long ginger blond hair was dirty and tangled, he was wearing an old brown tunic, too large for his frame. They had made a mess of his gorgeous man, Aidan realized with resentment.

Aidan stepped in the cell and the Scot locked the door behind him.

Suddenly, Aidan saw the panic growing in Dean's eyes.

"OH VIRGIN MARY!! They arrested you!!! No no NO THAT CAN'T BE POSSIBLE GRAHAM PLEASE!! He is innocent!! Let him go!! He did nothing!!! "

"Calm down, Dean" Aidan urged him gently, "he didn't arrest me; he just makes sure I don't help you to escape. I'm just here to see you, I'll be allowed to leave afterwards."  
Dean relaxed a bit.

"Three hours, not more," McTavish reminded before before he walked away, leaving them alone.

They just stared at each other for a moment in an awkward silence. Aidan didn't know what to do or what to say to make the situation better. He just wanted to cry in his lover's arms. Aidan had always been the emotional one and Dean the strong one, the older one, the one giving comforting, giving soothing caresses and tiny kisses all over Aidan's face until he felt better and smiled again. But now everything was different. Aidan felt that he wasn't allowed to be weak; it was Dean who was facing death, not him.

Dean smiled softly and opened his arms, "Just come here, little raven".

Aidan supressed a sob at the familiar love nickname and he took his man in his arms. He rested his chin on top of Dean's head. "I'm not little anymore, you know" he reminded him. The first time Dean called him "little raven", they were pretty much the same height but Aidan had aged and grown and now he was way taller than his lover.

"Yes but I'm still the elder and you've always been my clever little raven… ", Dean whispered fondly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, my love" he whispered back. He leant down to put a chaste kiss on the blond's neck. The wonderful scent Dean usually had was gone, replaced by the strong smell of sweat and confinement. He pressed another kiss behind his ear and Dean stiffened.

Dean pushed him away gently. "It feels good Aidan, but you don't have to do it, I know I stink awfully. I didn't really have the opportunity to bathe since I'm here and I don't want you to remember our embraces that way."

Aidan grabbed his heavy leather bag. "First of all, there is nothing that could keep me from kissing you, but If it can put you at ease, I brought soap, water and perfumed oil to wash you."

"It's very thoughtful of you."

"Will you let me wash your body, Dean, my love?"

Dean nodded, he understood that Aidan needed this as a kind of cure; he needed to take care of him to help himself coping with the situation.

Aidan helped his lover out of his clothes. Dean shivered in the cold, humid air. The dark haired man consciously and lovingly washed his lover's torso, neck, arms, legs and crotch with some cloths, soap and a bottle of water he had stolen from his parents' house. During the whole process, Dean couldn't take his gaze away from the younger man's face who was completely focused on his task. Dean was marvelling how lucky he had been to have had such a beautiful, dedicated and caring man to love him all along his short life.

Aidan was kneeling in front of him, washing his thighs carefully. Dean took his chin in his hand and lifted Aidan's head.

"I'm almost finished" Aidan reassured him, escaping Dean's hand to focus his eyes on his task again.

"I just wanted to look at you." Dean explained softly.

"Why?" the young man asked, avoiding his lover's gaze.

"Because I can't believe that you are really there with me, I dreamed about it so many times since I'm here. Wishing you were there to warm me at night."  
Aidan remained silent, repressing his urge to cry all the tears he had, and he let Dean play with his hair.

When Aidan finished, Dean was freezing, his lips were blue and his body was shaking all over but he didn't complain a single time. Aidan took a warm blanket from his bag and wrapped his little man in it.

Aidan sat on the ground, his back leaning on the stone wall. "Sit in front of me please" he demanded. Dean sat between his parted legs, his back resting against the younger man's chest, seeking some warmth. Aidan took off the dirty black silk ribbon that tied Dean's mane on the back of his neck and tried to comb his blond hair. Aidan was trying hard not to pull his hair too much but it was too knotty, he almost broke the comb in it.

Aidan abandoned his hopeless task and kissed his love's shoulder.

"Would you mind if I cut it? You'd look very handsome with freshly cut short hair."

Dean sighed sadly.

"I don't mind, but you know, my hair cut doesn't really matter anymore, they will hang me anyway, no matter what I look like."

Aidan's heart tightened painfully in his chest, he circled the blond's shoulders in his arms and buried his face in his neck; he had to be brave.

"I know…" he answered weakly, trying to contain the shaking in his voice. "I know, but tomorrow I want you to be breathtaking, radiant as the sun, I want them to realize that they are wasting a beautiful human being; that they are a killing an angel instead of the demon they think you are. I want them to regret, to feel the pain, the remorse and the grief."  
"Aidan…" Dean breathed softly; he turned his head and pressed his lips against Aidan's. The dark haired man let his man kiss him and it took a moment before he kissed back. He wanted to kiss Dean with all his being, he wanted to lose himself in those soft lips but at the same time he was afraid, so scared that it could be the last of their kisses. By now, any kiss could be the last, any touch, any smile or gaze could be the last one.

"Yes, you can cut my hair if you want." Dean murmured before stealing another kiss.

Aidan reached for his bag and took his razor. He cut Dean's dirty hair, kissing the back of his neck each time a strand felt on the cell floor. Then he washed Dean's short hair with the remaining water and soap. When he had finished, he made Dean turn around to appraise his work. "You look beautiful, the last time I saw you with hair this short you were still a boy."

"I was seventeen; it was before I left to serve in the army"

"Yes. It was just before you left." They didn't need to point out the ironic parallel.

Aidan caressed Dean's cheek. "Now I'm trimming your beard"

"Yes master." Dean teased him with a little smile and he tilted his head back to give better access to his neck. He closed his eyes while Aidan passed the long sharp blade along the skin of his throat and chin. This gesture made Aidan realize once more how much Dean trusted him.

"Now let's do the oiling", Aidan ordered when he was satisfied with Dean's shaving. Aidan poured a generous amount in his palm and the delicious scent of Mrs Turner's wild roses and garden herbs perfumed oil made them exchange a knowing smile with all the memories it brought back. Aidan gently put his hand under the blanket that was still covering Dean's freezing body and began to massage the outside of his right thigh. He felt the skin warming under his touch. He massaged his legs, his stomach, his shoulders and his back with the oil and when his eyes crossed his lover's gaze he was surprised to read desire in them. He also noticed that Dean's eyes had recovered their blue brightness under his loving care.

"This scent reminds me of when you were stealing this oil of your mother's kitchen and when you brought it to our multiple nightly rendez-vous under our tree," Dean whispered. "I'm afraid the pastor wouldn't have approved the way we were using it."

Both of them chuckled softly at the memory of the multitudes of love-making in open air.

The blond man took Aidan's wrist and kissed his palm with a tentative open-mouthed kiss. "Would you consider taking me one more time Aidan: as a last favor?"  
Aidan held his gaze a second and responded by sealing his mouth over Dean's, letting out a pitiful sob that died between their lips.

Aidan broke the kiss slowly and caressed his lover's cheek.

"Anything your heart desires my love, it's yours, I'm yours."

"I just want you now Aidan, you're everything I ever wanted."

The dark haired man gently carried his lover in his arms to the heap of straw that was the only thing in the cell that could be used as a bed. Aidan laid him gently down on it; he took off his cloak and placed it under Dean's head to make sure he was comfortable. He covered the blond's naked body with the warm blanket and proceeded to take off his own clothes desperately slow.

He wanted this moment to last… but there wasn't time for them. Aidan just wanted to make it as good as possible.

Aidan joined his companion under the blanket and Dean took him in his arms. They looked at each other; Dean began to caress his shoulders and chest, never breaking the eye contact. Normally, Aidan would have closed his eyes and relaxed, letting Dean's warms hands explore his large broad chest, just enjoying the sensation of the closeness, but not today. Today he had to look his love in the eyes, memorizing his features. While most men started to show several signs of age in their thirties, Dean was still beautiful, even after three weeks of imprisonment. Aidan ran a hand down his lover's hips and squeezed the back of a firm thigh, making the other moan softly. Dean was a healthy and strong man, he'd never been sick in his life. With his other hand, Aidan caressed Dean's cheek that was still smooth and soft, never touched by the scars of small pox, which was killing many people and left the survivors with a skin damaged for life. That was such a horrible waste, sentencing to death a beautiful healthy man like Dean.

Aidan hissed when Dean grazed the nasty bruise on his ribs. The blond man frowned. "You're hurt? Who hurt you?"

"That is nothing, a ram gave me a push while I was treating a wounded sheep," Aidan lied.

Dean arched an eyebrow skeptically. "You are a terrible liar Aidan Turner, you know that? I know you always are very careful with animals."

"Hmmrr" Aidan growled, knowing that he was busted. It was not easy to fool Dean O'Gorman.

"What happened?"  
"Does it matter?"  
"Yes it matters to me!" Dean objected.  
Aidan sighed, "Some… some villagers threw rocks at me."  
"Why?" Dean asked, truly worried.

Aidan clenched his teeth and answered with an irritated voice: "Because of the sins we committed together in the last twelve years, what else? What can you do against it now anyway? It's not like you can get out of here and go defend my honor as you always did."

Dean gave him a hurt look. "I thought they would leave you alone since it's me who is the monster," he confessed.

Aidan felt an irrational anger filling his veins; he sat up, took his shirt and put it back on. "No they didn't, you thought that your heroic sacrifice would stop the rumors about us? You were wrong! People are stupid but not stupid enough not to figure out what is going on between us!" Aidan was shouting now, tears of grief and rage dripping down his face, he wasn't able to hold them back anymore. "And why did you do that anyway? Did you really think that your death would make it all good for me? When you threw yourself in that prison and when you chose not to fight or to defend yourself or flee, did you think one second about how miserable my life would be, left here alone, in this awful world, without you by my side? This world doesn't want me as much as it doesn't want you, Dean! It doesn't want us and what we really are. I don't want to live if you're not there to live with me."

Aidan was sobbing like a child now, his face hidden in his hands.

Dean crawled to reach his lover. He grabbed Aidan's wrists and pushed his hands away from his face, he pressed butterfly kisses on the younger man's forehead and on the back of his hands. "Sshhh, I'm here, I got you, shhh, Aidan, my love, please, don't say these things. You knew I had no choice, people knew that Blackhawk was threatening you, they would have accused you, I couldn't let them do that to you!"

Dean released the young man's wrists and gently cupped his face in his hands. "Aidan, I know it was long time ago but, do you remember what I told you when I came back from the military school? Do you remember why I went there even if I knew I would never have a military career?"

"Yes I remember, how could I forget?"

"Then repeat it for me."

"You said it was because you wanted to give me the choice of what I wanted to do with my life," he answered more quietly.

Dean caressed his neck and rested his hands on Aidan's shoulders. "Exactly, and it's what I'm trying to do again. I want you to have the choice. I die as a sinner, a bugger, to give you the opportunity to start a new life, to save your soul. You can go to the city, find a job, you can marry a wonderful woman that will give you heirs, strong sons and clever daughters that will surely inherited those curls and beautiful hazel eyes of yours! It's what I want for you my love, not death, humiliation and hell," Dean urged him.  
Aidan had calmed down a bit by now, Dean's kisses and caresses had always had this effect on his quick temper. "And you?" he asked slowly. "Do you remember what my answer was, back then?"

Dean frowned, searching in his memory the exact words Aidan had pronounced, twelve years ago, when he remembered he sighed loudly. "You said that you had chosen me...but that was a long time ago Aidan! Things were different. You were still a child when you said those words" He argued before Aidan could say anything. " I sacrifice my life now to give you freedom. You know you can't choose me anymore. It's not an option."

Aidan felt the anger coming back but this time he succeeded to contain it. "And you think that it was an inconsiderate and childish decision? Did I ever take those words back? No, I didn't. I loved you with all my soul; I gave you my body, my fate. You never took advantage of me Dean, I gave them freely and you know it. Don't tell me I've been naïve and that I wasn't thinking about the consequences because we both know it's a lie. I cannot love anyone else than you, I'm not a child anymore and I still choose you, I'll always choose you no matter what."

"But I'm ALREADY DEAD AIDAN !!!!!!" Dean exploded, shaking Aidan's shoulders to wake him up from his illusions. "Why can't you understand that? In less than seven hours I will be a corpse dangling on the end of a rope. How will you be able to choose me then??? "

The dark haired man looked away guiltily to avoid his lover's gaze.

Dean's eyes widened when he understood what Aidan's intentions were. He shook his head in denial. "No… no, no. no…..you can't do that Aidan ! Look at me, you can't do that!" Dean cupped Aidan's face in his hands, urging him to look in his eyes.

"Why not? I see no purpose of staying here, waiting to die of old age or disease when I could rejoin you faster," Aidan hissed between his teeth, still not able to look at him.  
Dean tried very hard not to panic completely. "So my sacrifice would be in vain?" He asked in a high-pitched voice. "I give you a gift and you throw it away? It's disrespectful to me."

Aidan pushed his lover's hands away. "I never asked you to die for me, that's a decision you took alone."

"Please Aidan, it's my last wish, if you love me, if you ever loved me, you'll do that for me." Dean begged him. "You'll take this opportunity, this new life I offer you, and you'll do beautiful things with it, as beautiful and extraordinary as you are in my eyes. It will be difficult, you'll miss me forever but in three, maybe five or ten years, you'll be able to remember me and our love with a smile on your lips."

"You can't ask me that." Aidan whispered.

Dean kissed him softly, "Please," he pleaded him again against his salty and wet lips.

"I can't promise you anything."

"I know you love me enough that you'll not commit that crime on yourself." Dean knew that he was trying to manipulate his lover but he was desperate and the idea of Aidan taking his own life was insupportable enough for Dean to try anything to dissuade him.

Aidan pulled Dean on his lap and buried his face on his neck, inhaling the fresh scent of the perfumed oil. "I love you, so much, so much it hurts, terribly," the young man said in a shaky voice. He pressed slow kisses in the crook of Dean's neck and the blond shivered.

 

"Make love to me Aidan, now, just one more time!" Dean ordered him, pulling his dark curls and taking his lips in an angry and passionate kiss trying to put in this kiss all the carnal desire that he would not be able to share with Aidan for the rest of his young lover's life.

Aidan responded with an animalistic groan and he possessively pinned his lover down on the straw covered floor. His hands, mouth, tongue and teeth were suddenly all over Dean's body, devouring with a desperate passion every inch of flesh he could reach. He was licking, nipping, biting, kissing, and tasting his Dean like he was the finest wine. He wanted to remember his salty taste, his spicy scent, and his lover's sounds of pleasure, from the little mewl of desire and the heavy panting of anticipation to the throaty groans of ecstasy.

They didn't have to talk. Dean didn't have to beg or to ask for certain caresses or stimulations. Aidan had explored and mapped his body for over a decade now, he was now a master when it came to satisfy his beloved. All the unsaid love words were transmitted to one another by their eyes, blue ones never quitting dark amber ones.

When Aidan penetrated him, Dean dug his fingertips and nails in the younger man's muscular shoulders like a drowning man holding on to a cliff. The sensation was intense, almost too much. Aidan noticed that the last lovemaking was similar to the first one, all the senses were sharpened, and the feelings seemed to be decupled. The young man looked at the man under him falling apart under his slow thrusts, completely abandoning himself to the sensation, and to him. Dean was so perfect, more beautiful than he had ever been in the dim light of the single oil lamp, his eyes were brilliant like flames and his skin like soft molten gold. His wild short hair surrounded his head like a halo.

Far too soon for their liking, Dean's grip tightens on his shoulders and by the familiar twist of his hips and the pleading sounds that were coming from his swollen parted lips, Aidan knew that his lover was close. He pressed a deep kiss on his mouth and caressed his thigh soothingly.

Dean cried his name and Aidan intertwined their fingers. "I'm here Dean, I'm here for you." He reassured him, feeling the heat of his own climax building too fast. Dean arched his back and screamed, dragging his beloved with him over the edge.

Aidan collapsed on the hot and sweaty body under him and rested his head on the firm chest, panting.

Dean carded his fingers in Aidan's curls and chuckled softly. Aidan lifted his head to look at him, trying to figure out what was so funny. Dean had a strand of straw between his fingertips. "You have straw in your hair my love." Aidan took it carefully between his thumb and forefinger as if it was a precious relic.

Dean took a few more straw strands out of Aidan's mane. "It reminds me of our first time, in the hay loft, remember? You had hay stuck everywhere in your curls," he whispered fondly, "you were so adorable, how could I possibly resist?" Dean smiled dreamingly.

"You still cannot." Aidan reminded him, smiling back.

"I've never been able to." he conceded with a little laugh.

Aidan rested his head again on the thin soft fleece of chest hairs, listening to the slowing heartbeat. "Do you regret? I mean, do you regret your choice of loving me?" Aidan asked him.

Dean kissed the top of his head before answering: "I regret that I put you in a situation that makes you suffer but how could I possibly regret that I loved and be loved in return by someone like you? You made my life complete Aidan, you made me a better person, you made me happy like no one else could ever do."

Aidan shivered. He didn't like the way Dean was talking about himself and his life in the past, like if it was already over. At the same time, the young man was admiring his courage; he always admired Dean's strength. In all their life, Aidan never saw Dean shed a single tear or show a single moment of weakness even when they were young. Aidan always suspected that Dean was this unwavering, unbreakable island in order to be a reliable refuge for Aidan, anytime he needed it. But maybe now it was different.

Aidan ran a hand on the blond's hip and waist, before asking the question that was burning his lips. "You are not afraid, because of tomorrow?" He rested his chin on Dean's collarbone to look at his face, waiting for a reaction or an answer.

 

Dean closed his eyes, his face contracted with a strong and sudden emotion. He opened his eyes and Aidan saw something in them that he had never saw before: fear, deep primal fear "I'm completely petrified Aidan, I'm so scared..." His voiced cracked on the last word and the last syllable stayed stuck in his throat.

Aidan straightened himself and covered Dean's naked body with the blanket. He cradled him in the nest of his arms and kissed his forehead. Dean's emotional wall had broken down all of a sudden and Aidan could finally give him the comfort he needed.

"I'm so scared." Dean repeated. "I'm afraid of the humiliation, I'm afraid of going to hell and burning for all eternity. But that's not what scares me the most."  
"What scares you the most?" Aidan asked softly, his lips still against his forehead.

"The pain, the death, I'm scared that they will let me die slowly, I'm afraid to panic and to suffer for too long, I just hope they'll make it quick." Dean let out in a shaky breath.

Aidan hadn't thought it was possible to be more heartbroken than he already was, but to see his usually so strong lover and hero reduced to a trembling mess of fear in his arms, under his very eyes, was far more than he was able to handle. Somehow he managed because now his love needed him more than ever. Dean was looking like a little rabbit in the hand of hunter, its small body shaking and knowing that in the next moment the hunter would break its neck. Aidan stayed silent, what could he possibly say to make it better anyway? He just rocked him gently, back and forth, holding him tight in a protective gesture, if anyone would have tried to wrest Dean from his arms in that very moment, Aidan would probably have bare his teeth and growled like a hurt beast.

 

 

Silent minutes passed in the half darkness and Dean relaxed a bit. He suddenly put cold fingertips on Aidan's forearm to catch his attention.

"Sing for me Aidan, please." he demanded.

Aidan had a great voice and a remarkable memory for lyrics and one of Dean's delights was to hear is lover sing.

"Which one do you want?"  
"My favorite, the song about Ireland."  
"The Old Ways."  
"Yes, I always wished to see the ocean from the Irish coast, where my O'Gorman ancestors are coming from." Dean whispered dreamingly.

Aidan ran a hand on Dean's forehead like a mother who was about to sing a lullaby to her sick child.

 

 

He took a deep breath and began:

_The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you_   
_The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you._

His low manly voice echoed in the silence of the cold cell, as if the stones of the walls stayed more silent than they already were, just to hear him sing.

_On the dark New Year's night_   
_On the west coast of Clare_   
_I heard your voice signing_   
_Your eyes danced the song_   
_Your hands played the tune_   
_T'was a vision before me._

As he continued to sing, the cell suddenly disappeared around him and Aidan was elsewhere in his memories.

 

.........................................................

 

Fresh snow crunched under their feet, the sky was cloudless and everything was so white. The whiteness contrasted with Dean's exquisite scarlet wool scarf, decorated with golden buttons. He and Dean were gathering branches to build a wooden hut under the old oak. Aidan didn't have to help his parents on the farm that afternoon because it was Sunday and he was allowed to go to play in the woods. Aidan was bit jealous; he wanted a scarf like Dean's because it looked like the uniforms of Dean's little tin soldiers. Dean had several toys and pretty clothes, because Dean's family was rich. The seven-year-old boy envied his best friend, but he loved him anyway, they were best friend forever, they had decided it last summer. Dean was kind enough to let Aidan play with his toys, but it was not like having some of your own.

When the wooden hut was done and the boys had covered it with rushes from the swamp, they sat under it and shared the bread that Aidan had brought for their meal.

The dark curly-haired boy shivered and sneezed.

"You are cold?" Dean asked.

"A little bit, but I'm fine" Aidan replied, he didn't want to appear weak.

Without hesitation, the blond boy took off his red scarf and wrapped it around his younger friend's neck. "Take that or you're gonna catch a cold."

Aidan was in awe, "Thanks Dean" he whispered shyly, caressing the fabric with his fingertips.

They spent the rest of the afternoon running in the woods. Aidan was a hunter and Dean was his loyal dog and they spent hours running after imaginary deer and foxes.  
At twilight, they separated and they took their own way to their houses. Neither of them noticed that Aidan still had the red scarf around his neck.

"Where did you take that?" His mother asked him as soon as he entered the house, his cheeks still pink from the cold and the running. Aidan replied honestly and his mother scolded him because he was not allowed to take home things that were not his.

"We are going to their house tonight and you will apologize to Mrs O'Gorman to have kept her son's clothes."

"Yes mother…" Aidan wailed, he didn't do anything wrong, he just forgot. Adults were so unfair sometimes.

As they were about to go to Dean's house, someone knocked on the door. It was Mrs O'Gorman and her son.

Aidan's mother nearly groveled before Mrs O'Gorman to get her to accept her apologies, and she made Aidan apologize as well. He took the scarf and put in back around Dean's neck.

While their mothers continued to chat together, Dean took his friend by the hand and dragged him to the corner of the house where the Turner's oxen were tucked inside in the winter to help keeping the house warm.

While petting their big heads, Dean told his friend: "You know it did not bother me that you kept my scarf, it looks good on you, but my mother was angry."

"Mine too." Aidan sympathized.

"I have to take back my scarf, but I can give you something else…" Dean took a look at their mothers to make sure they weren’t looking their way and he put one of his tin soldiers in Aidan's hand.

Aidan's eyes widened. "You can't give me this one, it's Colonel Blake!" he whispered nervously. They had named that toy after Robert Blake, the founding father of the Royal Navy. In their games, Colonel Blake never lost a battle.

"Yes I can", Dean objected, "it's yours now. Just be careful not to break it, and don't show it to your mom."

"But what about your mother?" Aidan wondered.

"I'll tell her that I lost it."

The dark haired boy looked at the soldier in his hand, ecstatic. It was the best gift he ever had.

He quickly hid the toy in his pocket and threw his arms around Dean's neck and kissed him on the cheek. Dean blushed heavily but grinned, sufficiently rewarded for his generosity. Their mothers had to untangle them from each other in order to get Dean to go home because Aidan was clinging at his best friend like a squirrel at his last cone.  
Aidan had never told Dean that he wanted to have toys of his own or that he was jealous of his scarf because it looked like the tin soldiers' uniform…. he never voiced these thoughts but somehow, Dean knew… Dean always knew what was going on with Aidan. Unfortunately, Aidan had lost the toy three years later somewhere in the woods, he'd been sad about it, but more important was Dean's gesture of love and compassion. This was a memory Aidan would cherish all his life.

 

................................................

 

_We left the music behind, and the dance carried on_   
_As we stole away to the seashore_   
_And smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair_   
_And with sadness you paused._

_Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go..._

 

Aidan voice broke while signing this verse. He searched Dean's gaze with distress, convinced that his lover could do something to ease his pain. "I don't want you to go," he said simply. Dean opened his eyes and smiled fondly. "Please Aidan, don't stop signing." The young man nodded courageously and continued.

 

 

_Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go_   
_Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so_   
_Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time_   
_And I wondered why._

_As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea,_   
_A vision came o'er me_   
_Of thundering hooves and beating wings_   
_In the clouds above_

 

.....................................................

 

It was a cloudless night, a warm and humid July night; the sky was immense and the stars were purely stunning through the old oak's branches and leaves. The concert of the frogs and the nocturnal insects in the fields and the swamp nearby was hypnotizing. Aidan was 23, he was lying on his back, in all his naked glory, his hands under the back of his neck. Dean was above him, equally naked and busy kissing and nipping passionately at his love's neck.

"It's amazing!" Aidan whispered.

"You're welcome" Dean mumbled against his skin between two kisses along the column of Aidan's throat.

The younger man chuckled. "I'm not talking about you or your kissing skills, I'm talking about the sky. You should see it!"

Dean abandoned his lover's neck in order to look him in the eyes, deadly serious, his nose an inch away of Aidan's. Aidan smiled at the face above him, Dean's eyes were always blue, even in the dark.

"My attempts to arouse you are completely in vain, aren't they?" Dean asked his young lover.

"For now I'm afraid they are. Watch the sky with me instead! "

The blond pulled a face, "I don't want to watch the sky, it's you that I want Aidan," he whined.

"… Please. You don't know what you're missing." Aidan begged.

Dean let out a displeased groan and he fell on the blanket next to Aidan, turning his back on him.

The brunet knew his stubborn lover was pouting, but it needed more than that to discourage Aidan. He circled Dean's waist in his arms and pressed his body against the other's back, pressing tiny kisses across his bare shoulder.

Aidan watched the constellations of stars for a long time, listening to Dean's quiet breathing. There was nowhere else in the world he rather wanted to be, his place was just here, under this sky, against his love's soft and warm skin.

About an hour later, Aidan whispered in blond hair: "You can have me now if you want." There was no answer, when Aidan straightened to take a proper look at his lover's face, he realized with a smile that Dean was asleep.

He took another blanket and covered Dean's sleeping form with it, he brushed away a couple of blond strands from his forehead and put a tender kiss on one eyebrow. Aidan took him again in his arms and fell asleep as well.

 

Aidan was woken several hours later by open-mouthed kisses on his stomach and hipbones.

The stars were gone and the pink sky was announcing the upcoming dawn.

"Good morning," Aidan sleepily greeted his lover; he stretched lazily, already hard under Dean's delicious ministrations.

Dean brushed the tip of his nose in the inviting trail of hair on Aidan's belly and lifted his head to smile at the younger man. "You said earlier that I could have you, so I didn't wait that you wake up to help myself".

"You just pretended to be asleep, bastard !" Aidan chuckled playfully.

In the dawn light, Dean's hungry eyes seemed as green as the ferns around them and with his messy hair, mischievous smile and that playful spark in his eyes, he looked like a faun: the lustful creatures, half goat, half man, from the Roman mythology. Aidan had read about them in one of Mr Armitage's books and he always found them fascinating. But when Dean crawled above him to steal a kiss and when Aidan ran a hand on his thigh, he was grateful that Dean had these beautiful human legs instead of goat legs.

Aidan gave his body to his lover two times that morning, like an offering to the mystical creature of the forest he was in Aidan's eyes.

 

..........................................................

 

_As you turned to go, I heard you call my name_   
_You were like a bird in a cage, spreading its wings to fly_   
_The old ways are lost, you sang as you flew_   
_And I wondered why._

_The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you_   
_The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you._

 

Aidan hummed the chorus one more time. Dean was completely relaxed in his arms, his eyes closed; he looked so serene that Aidan was afraid that if he moved it could break the quiet state of peace the song had created around his lover. He didn't want to see the fear again in those blue eyes. He took a quick look through the barred window, he couldn't really see where the moon was but he was pretty sure the three hours they had were almost over.

Aidan leaned down and kissed the tip of Dean's nose and chin. Dean opened his eyes slowly, as if he was waking up from a trance.

"I think we should both get dressed, my love." Aidan whispered.

 

 

They dressed up in silence. The horrible moment when they would have to say their last goodbye was nearly there. Unconsciously they thought that if they didn't speak, they could prevent this moment from happening.

After they got dressed, they sat on the floor, back rested on the cold wall; they just stayed there, side by side in silence, several minutes, staring blankly at the darkness before them. Three hours was a ridiculously short time to express the love of a lifetime. There was no good way to say those things, no perfect way to say goodbye when you're only a desperate human. Suddenly, Aidan wasn't able to handle that frightening distance anymore and he grabbed Dean's hand in his, planted a firm and quick kiss on the back of it and he entwined their fingers and squeezed his hand in an almost painful grip and Dean squeezed back with the same intensity.

They heard knocks and the door half opened. "Aidan, I'm sorry but I have to kick you out. I still let you a few moments but you'll have to go afterward." Graham told them and he closed the door again.

They stood up and Dean put his hand in the back of Aidan's neck and brought their foreheads together.

"Listen to me." Dean urged him. "You are going to leave this miserable town, you will find another place to live, you will marry and have a son, you can name him Dean, he will have my name but he will be bright, beautiful and lively, just like his father. I'll be with you all your life, through your child and you are going to find happiness, because I say so and because I love you." Dean decided.

Aidan chuckled softly "You're always so bossy, Dean O'Gorman."

"I know…" Dean said with a sad smile, "I guess I'm lucky that you loved me despite my flaws".

"I love all of you, even your flaws," the young man replied fondly. Somehow, he knew the time had come, the time for their last kiss. He leaned down and captured Dean's lips with all the love, care and tenderness he could find in himself. Dean responded immediately to the softness of his lover's lips. The kiss deepened. For Aidan, the kiss tasted like wild strawberries, the one they were picking when they were kids, it also tasted like earth, woods, the warmth of the sun on tan skin, it tasted distinctly like Dean too, an indefinable taste, a familiar one, a comforting one, and soon, too soon it was over and their lips parted out of their own accord.

Dean buried his fingers in Aidan's soft curly hair. "Aidan… tomorrow… please, don't come," he pleaded him.

"Why?" Aidan asked.

"It will be horrible; I don't want you to see that… I don't want to you to see me… like that, humiliated, mutilated. I don't want it to be the last image you have of me."

"Turner, it's time now," McTavish ordered as he stepped in the room and unlocked the cell's door.

 

Aidan pulled his little man in his arms. "It's going to be fine, everything is going to be fine," he told him.

 

When he broke the embrace to take a last look at his lover's face, he saw a single tear escaping Dean's eye and rolling on his cheek. Aidan didn't care that Graham was watching them; he had nothing to lose anymore so he leaned down and kissed Dean's cheek. Then, he walked through the cell's door with Dean's salty tear, the only one he ever shed in front of him, burning on his lips. He left the room without a look back, because he knew a single look back would be enough to kill him.

 

He followed the dark corridor,

regretting that the last thing he had said to the love of his life

was a blatant lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Bluebutterfly (thanks a lot darling!!) 
> 
> This is the irish song that Aidan is signing, it's not from the 18th century but I thought it was a good one for the fic-  
> Loreena McKennith - The Old Ways: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SG6ZITbWpU  
> here is another version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7UV51HWacA
> 
> I know that this chapter was really angsty but please, wait til the end of the story to stone me. ;) 
> 
> Thanks to take the time to read this fic and please take 10 seconds to leave a comment, I love you all dear readers. :)


	4. A Dragon and a Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan had seen only one execution in his life, in Woodhills' parish when he was nineteen. It was at that moment that Aidan fully realized that Dean and he were never really meant to be together, that literally everything was pulling them apart.

 

Aidan had seen only one execution in his life, in Woodhills' parish when he was nineteen. It was at that moment that Aidan fully realized that Dean and he were never really meant to be together, that literally everything was pulling them apart. He understood that they were star crossed lovers and that there was no way their story could have a happy ending.

  
Dean had to go there because his parents had distant relatives who had a seventeen-year-old daughter ready to be married and the O'Gormans thought she could make be a suitable bride for their only son. Dean, of course, was less than enthusiastic about it but he couldn't disobey his parents.

 

"You need to see my face so you can remember who you really love when you'll see the pretty young miss Adkins?", Aidan half-joked when Dean asked him to travel with him. Dean had snorted at the comment, "I just want you to come with me…" And Aidan had say yes because, travelling on the road in the O'Gorman's carriage meant that they could kiss for hours behind the heavy curtains and nobody could caught them since the coachman had to stop the carriage to look what was going on inside.

When they arrived at the Adkins' mansion in Woodhills and entered their host's house, the landlord asked Dean why he had brought one of his manservants with him since they had plenty of valets to make his stay comfortable. Dean hadn't understood what his host was talking about and Aidan was confused as well. It took a moment for Dean to turn around and look at his lover, finally figuring out that Lord Adkins had mistaken Aidan for one of the O'Gormans' farm boys. Aidan looked down at his clothes-- he had put on his best shirt and brown coat and his new black tricorn that cost him a fortune. He had even tied his dark locks on the back of his neck with the green ribbon Dean had given him last Christmas… but let's face it, he still looked like a peasant.

"This is my friend Aidan Turner, sir," Dean explained, " he may not come from a rich family but he is a gentleman, he can even read you Greek theater if you want."  
Lord Adkins burst into in laughter, patting Dean's shoulder, "You are very funny, young master O'Gorman, I'm sure my daughter will appreciate your sense of humor."  
He hailed one of his servants.

"Suzie! Show Mr O'Gorman his room."

The young brunette servant curtseyed in front of Dean and took his bag.

"If you care to follow me, sir."

 

Mr. Adkins picked up the bag Aidan had put on the floor and shoved it back in his arms not so gently. "The stables are behind the house," he growled to him.  
As he was following the servant up the stairs, Dean looked back at Aidan with an apologetic look but turned away and disappeared to the second floor.

Aidan headed up to the stables, feeling his heart sinking in his chest, humiliated. Until that moment, Aidan had never seen his and his lover's respective social status as an issue. He had never fully realized that they belonged to very different worlds.

Back home, things were different, the O'Gormans were the only rich family of St. Peter's so they had no choice but interact with the other families. Aidan's and Dean's mothers were friends and they naturally let their boys play together.

When Aidan was with Dean, when they were alone together, they were equals in every way. Dean was always making sure that his lover felt unique, special and loved. The older man never used his money, name or reputation to overpower his young lover in an argument or in any other situation. But Aidan was now in a different world, the real world, where the English gentry, the elite of wealthy land owners, didn't befriend poor farmers with dirty hands.

 

He stayed alone in the stables until sunset, petting and speaking out his sadness and anger to the Adkins' horses. He always found some comfort in the presence of animals.  
At some point in the evening, a servant brought him water, apples and bread but Aidan wasn't hungry and didn't touch his food. He was angry with Dean and wished his lover had fought for him a little longer before giving up and letting Lord Adkins throw him outside like a beggar.

 

He found some dirty blanket and wrapped himself in it, trying to sleep because he had nothing else to do.

Suddenly, he heard joyful chatting outside the stables, two men were talking and Aidan decided to go out and see who they were.

"Hello laddie! What are you doing here? Who are you?" one of the strangers, a bulky middle-aged man, greeted him with a gruff but friendly voice.

"My name's Aidan Turner, I'm Dean O'Gorman's best friend," he answered a bit shyly.

The man burst in laughter just like Mr Adkins did a couple hours ago. "Sure! And I'm the Duke of Norfolk! " the man joked, clearly not believing Aidan. Aidan frowned; he didn't find it funny at all.

The gruff man took Aidan's hand shook it with vigor, "Don't pull that face, young Turner! My name's Banner, I'm the gardener and this skinny idiot over there", he gestured toward his companion, "is Alvin, my apprentice". Despite the insult, there was fondness in the gardener's voice. The said Alvin waved flabbily at Aidan. "And tonight," Banner continued, "it's a night of feast and we have alcohol, so you, young Turner, whoever you are," he circled Aidan's shoulders with his arm, "you will come with us on the stables roof and we will sit there and drink."

Aidan decided to follow them. Banner took a ladder to help them climb on the rooftop.

"Why the rooftop?" Aidan asked when he was climbing.

"You'll see…" Banner simply replied.

 

When Aidan stepped on the roof, he understood immediately why the gardener had called it a "feast night" and why they had climbed on the roof. From there, they had a perfect view of the inside of the Adkin's ballroom by the enormous windows under the garden bushes.

That was beautiful; there were a lot of people gathered there, men with magnificent garments and women with sumptuous dresses decorated all over with lace, multicolored ribbons and silk flowers. Hanging from the ceiling were the biggest illuminated chandeliers Aidan had ever seen, the crystal pendants of the chandeliers were shining like ice in the morning sun.

They sat and Banner shook a bottle in front of Aidan's face. "You want some rum lad?"

"No thank you, I don't feel like drinking tonight, " Aidan refused politely.

The young curly haired man concentrated his attention on the people in the ballroom, trying to spot Dean but he was nowhere to be seen.

It was a warm night of August so they could easily hear the first notes of harpsichord and violin coming out of the open windows.

"It's beginning," Alvin commented before taking a swig from the bottle.

 

The doors of the ballroom opened and that was when Aidan saw Dean. Aidan's heart made a leap in his chest. Dean was wearing a new outfit that Aidan had never seen, a dark blue suit with golden patterns and brass buttons. He had shaved his beard and he was truly breathtaking… and he was smiling at the girl who was holding his arm when they entered the room together. Amanda Adkins was a gorgeous red head with creamy skin and long curly hair gathered in a sophisticated bun decorated with pink flowers.

"It's Miss Adkins", Banner uselessly informed Aidan, "a true beauty isn't she?"

Aidan didn't reply but gritted his teeth angrily.

"A little lusty devil under the mask of an angel, I can tell you that," Banner added, "I've heard that she was more that keen to marry the young sir O'Gorman, even before meeting him."

Aidan hissed under his breath and clenched his fists. This stunning young man was his, not hers.

"She's a keeper," the gardener continued, without noticing Aidan increasing rage, "Lord Adkins is really rich, I bet the O'Gorman's will be delighted by the news."

Aidan literally snatched the rum bottle from Alvin's hands, "changed my mind, I need to drink." He took a big gulp and coughed, nearly choking.

Banner took the bottle from his hands and patted Aidan's back until he stopped coughing. "Keep it easy laddie. Not accustomed to strong beverages like that, are you?" he asked. Aidan shook his head silently; it was not the alcohol he wasn't used to, it was the burning venom of jealousy that was starting to fill his veins that he never experienced before. He concentrated his attention again on what was going on in the Adkins' ballroom.

Dean and Miss Adkins were chatting, smiling at each other and Aidan hated her for the mere reason that she was close enough to see those delicious dimples that appeared on Dean's face when he was smiling. Aidan hoped that at least the little witch was smart enough to realize that she was in the company of the most attractive and kind man in this world.

 

Suddenly, Dean bowed before the lady and took his hand to guide her to the center of the room, followed by several other couples. Aidan held his breath, the music began and they started dancing. They swirled and fluttered around the room, graceful. Aidan suddenly craved for more alcohol and he reached out for the bottle, hoping that the rum would blur his vision enough so he wouldn't see them together anymore. But he wasn't able to tear his eyes off his beautiful lover, whose hand was on a waist that wasn't his.

"She is so kissable." Alvin whispered dreamingly, his gaze following Miss Adkins on the dance floor.

"Between me and you lad, yes she is beautiful but the bed sheets after the wedding night will be as immaculate as the clouds where the saints put their arses," the gardener commented.

"What does that mean?" Aidan wondered.

"That means, lad, that I can swear on me mom's grave that this lady is not a maiden."

 

Dean was maybe about to wed a whore, Aidan thought, but who was he to judge her? Dean and he weren't virgins either, and their sins were probably worse in the eyes of god than hers.

Aidan took another swig from the bottle as the tune faded out and the dancers bowed, announcing the end of that dance. Aidan saw Dean taking Miss Adkins by the arm and walking her to a quieter corner of the room where they could chat. _If Dean gets married, is this how I'll be forced to live my life?_ Aidan wondered, _all I will be able to do is watching him from outside like through a glass that I'll not be allowed to cross._

 

Aidan couldn't stand it anymore and he didn't want to torture himself needlessly. He wished a goodnight to the two men and climbed down the roof.

He curled in the blankets that smelled like horses' sweat and tried to sleep but all he could see under his eyelids was Dean and his lady, turning and turning on the dance floor and it made him feel sick.

 

In the middle of the night, he was half asleep when he heard the metallic sound of some tools falling on the ground, and a soft curse. He sat in his improvised bed, trying to see who was there in the dark. Someone whispered his name nervously "Aidan? Aidan? Are you here?"

The young man sighed, "Yes I'm here Dean, but you shouldn't be there."

Dean reached for him, grabbed him by the coat and pull him up, "follow me" he ordered, dragging him outside the stables. Aidan followed him until they found a hidden place between some bushes behind the Atkins' garden.

"I'm so sorry Aidan," Dean whispered, "I wouldn't have brought you here if I knew how they would treat you. Did they send you some food like I asked? Do you have all you need to sleep, I can find you some blankets."

Aidan stood still and stared coldly at his lover.

"Aidan? Are you fine?", Dean asked.

Aidan ignored the question and hissed between his teeth. "Do you find her pretty?"

Dean frowned, confused. "Who?"

"Amanda Adkins"

"Yes, yes she is… sweet." Dean replied honestly. He scrutinized Aidan's face a moment and raised a brow, "Are you jealous?"

Aidan didn't answer, it was a stupid question, of course he was jealous! "Do you want to make love to her?" he asked, without trying to hide the fire in his voice anymore.  
"No. Of course not!" Dean defended himself, "If I marry her one day, I'll take her in my bed to make children, nothing more than that. Making love is something I cannot do to any other than you." Dean reached to caress Aidan's cheek but his younger lover pushed his hand away.

"You'll marry her then?", he snapped, his anger flaring.

"I don't know."

Aidan let out a sarcastic laughter, "You don't know?"

"Don't make a scene Aidan," Dean warned him, "I don't want to marry her but do I really have a choice?"

They stayed silent for several long minutes, Dean looking at Aidan and Aidan looking at his feet.

"Aidan…," the blond sighed, "I love you and you know it, don't make it more difficult than it already is." Dean cupped his face and tried to kiss him but Aidan turned his face away.

"My love…please", Dean begged him, "I'll try to fix it for us. I'll try to sort this out, I promise."

 

"Will you try as hard as you tried to defend me when this snobbish lord insulted me?" Aidan growled.

Dean rested his forehead on Aidan's shoulder in defeat but the younger man didn't push him away this time. Dean lifted his head and looked at him, a silent question in his eyes. Aidan realized he wasn't the only one suffering.

"What would you have done if you had been in my situation? It's not me that put you outside with the horses. I know how unfair it is for you and trust me, I'm mad at this jerk. For me, it never mattered that you were born in rough wool and hay instead of velvet and silk. Don't let them make you think that you're less than nothing. You mean the world to me Aidan, you're the most precious thing I have. " Dean shook his head and sighed, "I always knew that one day, one way or another, we would be pulled apart and that it'll make you suffer." The older man looked away in the garden, nowhere in particular, like he was looking at his past, regretting. "I shouldn't have seduced you Aidan," he added.

"I let you seduce me more than willingly," Aidan objected softly, feeling his anger fading away. He circled Dean's waist in his arms and pulled him closer. Dean hid his face in his lover's neck.

Aidan kissed his temple, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have talked to you like that" he whispered, his lips still on Dean's skin.

"I don't blame you. You have all the reasons in the world to be angry," Dean said quietly.

"Yes I'm angry, but I still love you. Why do you think I am so jealous? Why do you think I've gone mad with anger when I saw you taking her by the arm, smiling to her, dancing with her in front of all these people? "

"Oh, you saw that…" Dean realized and he looked away, ashamed.

"Yes I did."

"I did it because I was expected to, but when I was looking in her brown eyes I wasn't thinking about her," Dean ran a hand down Aidan's torso, "when I was dancing with her, it wasn't her body I was thinking about." Aidan gasped when Dean suddenly grabbed his hips and brought their lower bodies together.

"Whose body were you thinking about?" the younger man asked with a husky voice. He always knew the answer but he wanted to hear it coming out from Dean's shapely lips.

"You, my love… of course it was you who was tempting me like that", Dean whispered. The blond pressed his body against his lover's and kissed him deep and urgently. He took Aidan's hand and pressed it against his groin to show him how hard he already was for him. Aidan shivered pleasantly.

Dean gave him a tentative kiss, his lips barely touching his lover's. "Allow me to show you how much I love you and your beautiful body."

"Right now?" Aidan breathed, unsure.

"Hum hum, right now." Dean nodded, "I want to pay homage to my only true lover at this very place."

Dean unbuttoned Aidan's shirt and the younger man felt a sweeter heat than the one of jealousy and anger. The warmth rushed through all of his body as soon as his lover's lips kissed the skin if his neck and collarbone.

"Are you sure it's wise?" Aidan panted as Dean's mouth went lower, and lower on his stomach.

Dean kneeled in front of his lover and pressed a loving kiss on Aidan's clothed erection, eliciting a low moan from the brunet's throat. The blond looked up at his lover's face, unbuttoning his trousers, "It's wise if you don't make too much noise, my beauty."

"I…I'll try," Aidan stuttered and he bit his lower lip to suppress a whimper of pleasure when Dean freed his hard member and began to press gentle and teasing kisses on the hot flesh.

The younger man closed his eyes and grabbed fistfuls of the leaves of the hedge behind him, trying as hard as he could not to cry out in ecstasy. He was feeling Dean's hot lips around him but he didn't dare looking down at him because Aidan knew that if he saw what his lover was doing to him, he would lose it all. He knew nonetheless that Dean was looking at his face from below, aware of every single one of his reactions, trying to figure out the best way to pleasure him. Suddenly, a particular caress of Dean's tongue along his shaft sent a violent wave of pleasure up Aidan's spine and he couldn't help but groan his lover's name a bit too loud.

 

Dean released him and Aidan let out a pitiful whimper at the loss of sensation. He snapped his eyes open and looked down at the older man with an apologetic look. "M' sor...sorry."

Dean stood up and kissed him passionately. He slipped a hand in the back of his lover's pants, squeezing a muscular cheek.

The younger man let out a moan of mixed pleasure and surprise.

The blond chuckled softly, "I think I'll have to keep you quiet myself."

Dean pushed Aidan back so he could pin him in the hedge. The hand that was groping his arse moved gently to Aidan's hip to finally make his way to the front of his pants and curl around his hard member.

The brunet opened his mouth to express his pleasure but Dean put a firm hand on his mouth muffling any sounds that could come out Aidan's throat.

Dean keep stroking him slowly, just like the way he knew his young lover liked it, whispering encouragements and loving nonsense in his ear. "You are so, so beautiful, my love, mine, you're mine. You know I'm yours, do you? Oh I love it so much when you squirm like that in my hand, so perfect, my dark haired angel."

Aidan came with a quiet cry, silenced under Dean's hand. Dean let go of the brunet's mouth and they exchanged a messy kiss.

Aidan was about to kneel in front of his lover to return the favor but Dean took his chin in his hand and shook his head. "No," he said firmly.

"Why? I want to."

"I know, but not tonight, I don't deserve it. I let Mr Adkins treat you badly without saying a single word."

"I forgive you, and it's not because of what you just did to me," the brunet reassured him.

"I know that you forgive me, but I don't know if I would ever be able to forgive myself," Dean sighed, "we should go back to sleep now."  
They separated after a last kiss in the garden, under the moon.

 

 

Aidan curled again in his dirty blankets. He wasn't able to sleep. He was glad that Dean had come to him, he was glad to know they still loved each other, but there was a burning of bitterness in Aidan's heart.

Even if Aidan's every wish was going to be fulfilled, even if Dean never married, this was the only thing they'd ever be able to have: quick intercourses in the bushes. Living all their life with the fear of been discovered. Quick secret meetings, stolen kisses, scared and whispered love endearments. And after that, they would always part to return in their own world, Aidan with the animals and Dean behind the heavy curtains of his velvet bed and nothing could change that.

For the first time, Aidan asked himself if would be better for them two to put an end to their liaison, because, one way or another, they would end up making the other suffer. And if Aidan could trust the gardener, Dean and Miss Adkins' wedding was soon to be announced. Aidan decided that he would talk to Dean and tell him that they were over. Yes, tomorrow he would do that, tomorrow or the day after… Aidan curled in a ball and let the tears of frustration run down his cheeks.

 

 

In the morning, Aidan helped the coachman preparing the Adkins' carriage and the horses. The family had to go to Woodhills market place because a burglar who had been breaking into the Adkins' mansion a couple months ago was about to be hanged. Miss Adkins didn't want to miss the entertainment and of course, she had put on her prettier travel dress and insisted to be accompanied by Dean of whom she was already very fond.

Aidan watched them from afar, half hidden in the shadows of the Adkins' stables. She was clinging to Dean's arm like it was her lifeline, giggling like a little girl. Dean was smiling at her like one would smile at an adorable but stupid puppy that made comical tricks. It made Aidan sick to the stomach.

When Dean noticed Aidan, he smiled. A real loving smile this time but with this tell-tale hint of sadness and tiredness that told Aidan that Dean hadn't had much sleep either.  
Dean waved to him, encouraging him to join them. The brunet hesitated when he saw Mr Adkins approach the couple. The young man threw a questioning glance to his lover but Dean nodded and waved again.

He walked through the courtyard. When he arrived by Dean's side, the blond spoke to Mr Adkins. "Sorry sir, would you mind if my friend here was coming with us this morning?"  
"I don't mind, Mr. O'Gorman, you can bring as many of your own employees as you feel the need," he replied with indifference.

"With all the respect I have for you sir, Mr Turner is not my…" Dean began but Mr Adkins was already gone and he had climbed in the carriage without looking a single time at Aidan.

Miss Adkins didn't seem to acknowledge his existence either and she followed his father.

"Sorry for that…" Dean whispered.

"I'm fine. Not your fault. I better get used to it anyway," Aidan hissed.

"Do you want to come with us?" the blond asked.

Aidan was still a young man and even if he knew curiosity was sometimes a bad thing, he had never seen an execution. Also, he had the desire to be with Dean and, at the same time, the self-torturing, jealous and insane need to spy on Dean and his soon-to-be fiancée.

"Yes, I want to come."

Aidan was seated next to the coachman and Dean took a place in the carriage, next to Miss Adkins who insisted to be by his side.

They arrived at Woodland's marketplace and it was crowded. The villagers let Mr Adkins pass to the first row, murmuring. He was an important character of the spectacle; he was there to see the punishment of the one who had tried to rob him of his sacred private propriety. To see Miss Adkins at the arm of a young man made people whisper even more.  
When they arrived next to the gallows, Aidan noticed two poor women who were crying loudly in each other's arms and the young man felt deeply sorry for them.

Mr Adkins however ignored them as he had ignored Aidan.

The doors of a nearby building opened and they dragged the man out of it.

One of the women started shouting through her tears "Thomas!!! NO! THOMAS!!" But the other restrained her so she couldn't run towards the prisoner.

Dean turned his head to look at his lover and they exchanged a sad knowing look. They were several meters apart, separated by the crowd.

Miss Adkins was so fascinated by what was happening that she forgot Dean's existence. He took this opportunity to leave her with her father and make his way in the crowd and stand in front of Aidan so they could whisper to each other. Nobody was really paying attention to them anyway.

All happened very quickly. The justice lieutenant read the sentence. The executioner made the poor man step on the gallows and slung the rope around his neck. The lieutenant read the sentence a second time; his voice muffled by the cries and pleads of the two women. The pastor said a short prayer for his soul. Then, he nodded to the executioner to signify that the time had come. The crowd that was previously shouting was suddenly completely silent.

"Don't watch, little raven!" Dean urged Aidan in a whisper.

But Aidan couldn't close his eyes, a dark fascination kept his eyes open and he saw the wooden trap open and the man fall. He heard the piercing scream of one of the women. She was trying to escape from the grip of the other who was sobbing as loudly as her companion. Were they the thief's wife, lover, sisters, daughters? Aidan would never know. But the young man understood that whoever these women were, they would never be able to talk, touch or even see the one they loved again.

Aidan was shaking of horror, pale like death and paralyzed as he watched the hanged body squirming a bit at the end of the rope and then, standing still.

"I told you not to watch", Dean murmured without even looking at Aidan, he just knew he had.

Dean slipped a hand subtly behind his back and grabbed Aidan's hand. Dean squeezed and Aidan squeezed back. Seeing this person die in that horrible way had put a lot of Aidan's doubts into perspective.

How would he feel if he lost Dean forever? In fact, if he did, he would be grateful for every moment they spent together, even if it was only quick secret meetings, stolen kisses, and scared and whispered love endearments. Aidan had to find a way for them to be with each other before it could be too late, because one day, one way or another, it would be too late. No, Aidan couldn't give up for the mere reason that their relationship had to be secret. He had to love Dean and let him love him back as long as they could, even if it had to end badly. Until that, Aidan would be Dean's lover, no matter what.

"It's not the first execution you see, isn't it?" Aidan asked later, as they were alone, waiting for the Adkins next to their carriage. Aidan was still shaking slightly and he was twisting his hands nervously, unable to chase the awful images of the hanged corpse and the grieved women from his mind.

"No, it's not the first. There was a criminal court at the military fort where I was living," Dean explained," I saw two executions there. Our superiors forced us to watch them to endure ourselves. One was a young woman, she had killed her husband but she was pregnant. They never execute pregnant women because the baby is considered innocent. So they put her to jail and wait until she has given birth, they hanged her the day after."

"That's horrible."

 

"Yes, more than everything", Dean agreed, " I'm sorry you saw that today, my gentle soul," he added, visibly worried for his lover, "I don't like seeing you traumatized like that, I'm sorry I asked you to come. I'll make sure you never see another execution again."

 

……………………………………………………………………

_Nine years later…_

_November 1707 - St.Peters' prison._

 

Graham rejoined Aidan in the food supply room, just before the door that lead outside of the prison.

"Where will you go now? The pastor will be there in three hours, and they will get him out of his cell in only four hours. Do you have a place to wait?"

"I don't know, not really, I haven't thought about it yet…"

"Because… you will be there tomorrow, right?" Mc Tavish asked him, while dragging a dead pig from the corner to the center of the room.

"Yes, I'll be there, I don't want to let him alone in a moment like that."

"I'm afraid it will be a long procession, from the marketplace to the place of execution," the Scot added, hanging the pig upside down to the ceiling to a sharp hook.  
Aidan froze.

"What do you mean by 'to the place of execution?', he will not be …" Aidan didn't wanted to say the word "hanged", " he will not be executed on the marketplace?"

Aidan had just assumed they would do that on the public place, it was the usual place in most towns.

"Did you see any gallows out there? They can't build it in one hour you know."

Aidan realized that indeed, he hadn't seen any gallows in the town. They usually built it several days before the execution. How came he hadn't noticed it? Aidan had a very bad presentiment about it.

"So where will they do it?" he asked carefully.

The Scot took a serrated blade and began to cut the pig's head. "I'm not supposed to tell you," he objected.

"You were not supposed to let me in here either." Aidan pointed.

"Don't make me regret it with your misplaced sass Turner." Graham snapped back. "They could execute the prisoner in the privacy of the prison, but they don't, they make it public, you know why?" Graham asked him.

"Because people want to see the convicted be punished for what he did."

"Yes, but not only, the public executions are made to mark people's imaginary. It has to be symbolic; it has to be horrible to dissuade people to become murderers, or thieves, for the message to sink in their little heads. When they watch the prisoner die, they understand what will happen to them if they go down the same road. An execution is a message sent to the crowd. In a way, it's like propaganda."

Aidan frowned, "I understand but how is it supposed to answer my question about the place for tomorrow?"

"Because, this 'symbolic' function of the execution is something Reverend Blackhawk has understood very well. His heart desires vengeance more than everything and Dean O'Gorman is probably the man he hates the most in this world, second to only the Devil himself. That's why they are going to hang him at the same place the murders were committed. They found the body of his son in a meadow under a tall tree; Reverend Blackhawk demanded that the murderer was executed on that tree, and they had no legit reason to deny him that," the prison guard informed him as he turned away to wash his hands stained with pig's blood in a barrel of water.

Aidan blanched, he felt like someone just thrown a huge bag of rocks in his stomach.

_They were going to kill Dean on their tree._

If he thought his misery couldn't be worse, he had underestimated the cruelty of a grieved father. There was no way it could be a coincidence. Tim Blackhawk's words echoed in Aidan's mind: "This is where you two are hiding to commit your sins against nature?" Is there a chance that Tim Blackhawk had told his father about his suspicion and about his intention to follow Aidan to discover the place of their secret meetings? This execution seemed to be a punishment not only for Dean but also for Aidan and a clear message that somehow, even if he couldn't prove it, the pastor knew that Aidan was involved in his son's death and that he was determined to make him pay as well. The pastor's purpose was obviously to make it as horrible as possible for both of the lovers.

"You have to go now Aidan. The executioner and the justice lieutenant will come in three hours, they will get him out around 7 AM, there is no need for you to stay here until then," Mc Tavish urged him.

Aidan shivered unpleasantly at the mention of the executioner. Nobody loved the dark characters, known for bringing bad luck with them. Usually, executioners were criminals that avoided the gallows by accepting this cursed job. He wondered how he would be able to see him touch his Dean without stepping out of the crowd and just demolish his face to pulp with his fists.

Aidan put back his headgear. "Yes I'll go now" he said, trying to control his inner rage for blood.

Graham put the pig's head in one of the wooden barrels.

"What's the pig for?" Aidan asked, vaguely curious.

"It's what the prisoner asked for his last meal."

"That's strange…" Aidan thought, crossing the doorstep and leaving the prison in the shadow of the night. He wondered why Dean, who had always hated pork, had asked it for a last meal. The perspective of death had maybe changed his lover so much that Aidan didn't really know him anymore…

 

 

The fall wind was freezing. Aidan buttoned up his long coat and shivered. Aidan would have given all the gold in the world, if he had it, to stay the rest of the night in Dean's warm and loving arms. He could have fought alone against the Royal Navy itself just to feel his lover's soft skin under his hands and lips one more time. They had just made love but it already seemed like it was a century ago.

There wasn't a living soul on the market place where Aidan was pacing, rubbing his hands together, trying unsuccessfully to create some warmth. All the "I should have"s and the "I shouldn't have…"s where turning in Aidan's head as his injured soul experienced the grief, regrets and guilt of anyone that lost somebody they loved. There were as many "I love you"s Aidan wanted to say again that there were people in England.

The young man thought about going to the Olde Goose to drown himself in ale and drink until the drunkenness numbed his pain. But it was still the middle of the night and the tavern wouldn't open until dawn and there was no point on going back to his parent's place. And he wasn't welcomed in those places anymore anyway. St. Peter's streets were still as empty as they were at midnight; there wasn't a single light through the shutters of the houses and shops.

Aidan thought he was the only one still outside that night, that was why he jumped when he heard a voice behind him saying, "It's a bit late to be outside in the cold Mr Turner."

Mr Armitage, the bookseller, limped towards him, leaning on his cane. Five years ago a heavy bookshelf had fallen on him in his shop and broke his leg. The barber had tried to fix the bone but his leg was irrevocably injured and it left him invalid for life. Richard Armitage had taught Aidan to read when he was young, never asking to be paid for that and Aidan felt he owed him a lot. After the accident, Aidan helped his former teacher in his shop every time he wasn't busy on his family's farm or when he wasn't with Dean. Since Dean had been arrested it seemed to be different though; as if the bookseller was avoiding Aidan like plague. That was the reason why he was so surprised to see the older man coming towards him.

"You must know why I'm waiting here, don't you?" Aidan said with bitterness.

Armitage sighed, "There are still some hours left until dawn, lad…"

Aidan looked down, McTavish had said similar words, but that was not like it could comfort him. Yes, it was still hours until dawn, but it also meant that Dean had still only a few hours to live, only a few hours before they wrested his man from Aidan's life.

"You're going to catch death," Armitage added.

"My health is the least of my concerns now and it's not like I have a place to go anyway."

Armitage took a flask of whisky from the pocket of his coat and held it out for the younger man. Aidan reached for it and took a sip. The alcohol warmed up his throat. Armitage gestured toward the flask Aidan was still holding.

"I have more of that at home you know. I also have some coals in the fireplace and a delicious stew boiling under."

"I thought you were trying to avoid me, like all the other citizens of that town. What made you change your mind?"

"We can talk about it at home Aidan, you must be exhausted and hungry."

"I don't need your pity. I don't deserve it anyway according to everyone around here. You must have heard how a horrible sinner I'm supposed to be. You better keep away from me, if anyone sees you in my company it could destroy your good reputation. My best friend is a murderer in case you were not aware of it."

The bookseller remained expressionless but said, "I know that Dean O'Gorman is not just a friend for you, isn't he?"

"Oh! Apparently you choose to believe the town's gossip, too," Aidan hissed.

"Aidan…. "Armitage sighed, like he was scolding a rebel student. "I know too well that this precise rumor is true. A young boy came to me to learn how to read his friend's letters fourteen years ago. This boy was obviously in love, he just didn't know it yet."

Aidan opened his mouth to reply but shut it right away. Apparently everybody knew about them. What was the point of lying or defending himself anymore? It was the truth anyway. Aidan suddenly had the urge to run through every street of St. Peter's parish, open every door of every house and scream "Yes! You're right, I'm a sinner. I love Dean O'Gorman!!!!!! For the past twelve years we fucked each other at least two times a week and damn, it was good, and if I could I would do it again. I don't want your pardon or even god's forgiveness, I piss on it! I just want my Dean back so we could do it again, and again, until the earth splits under our feet and we are dragged directly to hell with all of you." He couldn't help but smirk humourlessly, imagining their horrified expressions-- sweet revenge.

 

Aidan threw his flask back to the bookseller and was about to go away without another word, but Armitage grabbed his arm.

"Please Aidan, I want you to come with me, I have a story to tell you. I know you love stories, as soon as you knew how to read, you were eager to read all the books I had in the shop."

Aidan stiffened "What is that story about?" he asked. He didn't like being grabbed like that since that horrible day under the tree. The traumatizing experienced had left scars in Aidan's soul. It wasn't Richard's fault though, he didn't know what had happened that day, and nobody did, except Dean and Aidan. The other witnesses were all dead.

"It's about two boys that were in love, just like you and Dean were, back then," the bookseller explained.

"Who?" Aidan asked, suddenly interested.

Richard released his arm.

"Follow me home and I'll tell you at a good hot meal."

Armitage limped away. Aidan hesitated. Richard always been a good friend but since Dean was in jail, Aidan didn't knew who he could trust anymore, but at the same time, he felt so alone…

Armitage's warm and cozy home was on the second floor just above his bookshop. Aidan sat at the table and the bookseller lit up a candle and placed it on the center of the table. He poured him a glass of his best whisky and served him a plate of steamy turnip and chicken stew from the cauldron that hung in the fireplace. Aidan' stomach was twisted with sadness but he couldn't pretend he wasn't hungry. He devoured his meal desperately, realizing that he hadn't eaten anything since one day and a half. Richard watched him eat in silence and when Aidan had finished, he served him another plate with a knowing smile. Aidan emptied it as quickly as the first one. The bookseller sat in front of him with a satisfied smile, happy that Aidan had somehow lowered his guard.

"Are you ready to listen, Aidan?" Armitage asked, like he always did before beginning one of their reading lessons, making sure his student was in the right state of mind to learn.

"Yes sir."

They weren't master and student anymore but the dynamic between them two hadn't really changed.

"When I was young, I wanted to be man of God," the bookseller began, "My parents didn't have much money but they found a pastor in another parish who would want to take me under his wing. Reverend Pace was a severe and austere man who had traveled in the colonies several years in his youth to preach to the savages. He was a rock, a block of granite that could resist to everything and I swear I never saw him smile or laugh a single time. His eldest son was completely the contrary though; he was a lively, brilliant young man with dreams and ambitions and he always had this bright light of happiness in his eyes. You remind me of him sometimes."

Armitage looked for a moment at his former student's face. Aidan's eyes were dim and devastated by sadness. The bookseller frowned, "at least, before you were struck by this misfortune," he pointed out.

When Aidan didn't react, the bookseller sighed and continued,

"Me and Lee, that was the name of Reverend Pace's son, we were getting along very well, we were almost attached by the hip, a bit like you and Mr O'Gorman when you were kids. "  
Armitage paused a moment, staring at the flames in the fireplace with a dreamy smile on his lips. Aidan leans back on his chair, a bit taken aback by his former teacher's story. He had said that the story was about two boys who were in love, and now he was talking about his own childhood. It was the first time the bookseller was sharing his life story with him, but Aidan couldn't believe that Mr. Armitage could ever been in love with another man.

 

"One day, we were reading poetry to each other at the village's wash house." The older man continued, "We were fifteen or sixteen, I cannot remember. That was our favorite place to be when we hadn't bible lessons with his father and had some free time. The women usually came there in the morning, to wash the clothes. So, in the afternoon there was nobody there and it was the quietest place of the village. One day that we were there and Lee suddenly asked me if I have ever kissed a girl. I replied that it was disgusting and that I would never want to kiss a girl. Lee had laughed, with this joyful laugh of his that sounded like the water of the washhouse's spring. Then he asked me if I had ever wanted to kiss a boy. I answered that it was even more disgusting and that I would never do that, and that I didn't want to be a bugger. He just looked at me a moment with that smirk in his face that made me think that he knew things about me I wasn't even aware of. "

Aidan nodded, "Yeah, Dean does that too," he said without thinking, "sometimes I feel that he knows me better than I do." The young man shivered, just saying Dean's name out loud was painful.

Richard put a hand on Aidan's shoulder and rubbed it gently with his thumb in an affectionate gesture. Aidan responded with a weak smile.

"What happened after?", Aidan asked, he wanted his former teacher to continue; at least it was distracting him from the grief.

"After, things continued exactly the same way they did before, bible studies, masses, poetry reading; but in a way, everything was different. It was like Lee had opened a door in my mind I wasn't able to shut anymore. I think I never really asked myself who I wanted to kiss until he asked me that question. In a way I always assumed that I would be a good pastor with a wife and several children but at the same time I never looked at a girl and thought that I could fancy her enough to want to make kids with her. His question began to haunt me during the days and deprived me from sleep at night. He and I were sharing the same room in his family's house; his three sisters were sleeping in another room. One night when I wasn't able to sleep, I sat on the side of Lee's bed and watched him sleep. He was peaceful and beautiful, I just wanted to slip under his covers and press my body against his."

Aidan couldn't help but remember the first times of their relationship, when they became lovers after Dean came back from the army. Dean was like a golden forbidden fruit that Aidan knew it was a sin to taste. He knew it but he couldn't resist and he took every opportunity he had to be alone with Dean and beg for kisses and caresses.

The bookseller resumed his narration. "I realized with utter horror that I had a physical desire for my friend and that if I had to kiss someone, it would be him. I was terrified but at the same time there were these tinkles of excitement in my chest and that just frightened me more. I knew it was bad, that it was evil. I nearly ran into my own bed, swearing that I would never have these thoughts again. Unfortunately, the dream I had that night proved me wrong. I will not share it with you Aidan, but I think you can guess what it was about. "Richard Armitage chuckled softly.

Aidan nodded, he could relate entirely to what the bookseller was talking about, except that he hadn't been ashamed for a long time about his desires for Dean. He had had some moments of doubt during his relationship with Dean; doubt was the lot of human being. Sometimes he had told himself "maybe we should end this madness, one day I'll have to let Dean marry and perpetuate his wealthy lineage". Yes, he had had these thoughts, like when Dean was about to be married to Amanda Adkins. He had been close to lose his Dean. Fortunately, not long after their visit at Woodhills, the Adkins discovered with utter horror that their precious daughter was about three months pregnant. She had already been pregnant when Dean had met her, which was explaining why she wanted to get married to him as soon as possible. She had been sent to a convent and Dean had escaped from this marriage. Now, Aidan nearly wished they had wed because all of this wouldn't have happened.

Aidan had had doubts sometimes during their years together. But Dean had a gift to erase a doubt from his lover's mind with a single look of his stunning ocean blue eyes, a single smile, a simple caress, a searing kiss or a sincere "I love you Aidan". When it was a combination of all of those things, it suppressed Aidan's doubts for a pretty long time.  
What surprised Aidan the most was the fact that he never suspected that his mentor was… well… was like him. A man who, regardless how hard he tried, would never be able to really love a woman. He was relieved to know that someone at least could understand what he was living and he was relieved to see that the bookseller wasn't judging what he had with Dean.

 

"One day," Armitage continued," we were at the washing house again and I was reading in silence but I could feel the burning of Lee's inquisitive gaze on my face. When I lifted my head to look at him, I saw that he was staring at me with a little cheeky smirk. I asked him what the matter was. He asked me if I finally made up my mind on who I wanted to kiss. I blushed so hard my face turned beet red. I lied. I told him I didn't want to kiss anyone but I've never been really good at lying and Lee always knew when I was trying to hide something from him. Usually he would have questioned me until I admitted the truth but much to my surprise, his smile just widened and he resumed his reading without saying a word. That night, when everybody in the house was asleep, he sat at the edge of my bed. He looked at me in silence for a moment and he finally asked if I wanted to try something. I didn't want to seem to be a coward so I obeyed when he told me to close my eyes. You surely guess what happened next. He gave me my first kiss. I was petrified but at the same time it was the most delicious thing that ever happened to me. From that day, we kissed every time we were alone. I was feeling guilty but I couldn't stop. One time, he said he loved me. I knew I wasn't allowed to love him. So I didn't say anything back and fate separated us not long after. " The bookseller sighed. Then, he looked intensely at his former student for a moment. "Did you ever tell Dean you love him?" he asked him.

 

Aidan gulped, trying to ease the lump in his throat. "Yes," he answered simply," almost every time we were together for the last twelve years."

"That’s…that's a good thing." Armitage approved, "He will know he has been loved when... when…"

"What happened, to you and Lee?" Aidan hastened to ask, he didn't wanted to hear what the older man was about to say.

Armitage sighed and rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger, it was obviously a bad thing to remember. "One night, his father caught us naked in my bed. He beat me really hard, leaving me bleeding. The last time I saw Lee, he told me that I had the devil in me, that I had seduced him and manipulated him in order to force him to commit sins against nature. And I believed him. Reverend Pace kicked me out of his house; it took me three days by foot and I cried all the way back to my parent's home. I was humiliated, I felt betrayed. He had kissed me first and then accused me to have been the one seducing him. I was also scared that Lee would go to hell because of me. I understand now that he was only scared of his father, but all I could feel back then was guilt and injustice.

I knew god wouldn't want me to serve him as pastor anymore so I forgot my dream. I also tried to court women," Armitage continued," I wanted to find someone I could marry and, at least, live a good Christian life. But women are clever; they sensed there was something wrong about me and they all rejected me. I finally decided I would stay alone, with my books, for the rest of my life. I loathed myself for those unnatural thoughts and desires for a long time. There was this demon in my head that was whispering tempting sinful desires for other men… I hated myself for what I was and for that sickness in my mind that made me prefer men instead of women.

And then you came to me like a lost little angel, with that pure and genuine love for your friend. I immediately knew that you and the young Corporal O'Gorman would become lovers one day. But it was not about carnal desire yet, it was only about love. I told myself 'how could the devil be in that innocent boy that just wants to love and be loved?' You couldn't be a sinner because lust wasn't the motive that was bringing you toward your friend. Because of you, I realized I wasn't sick or cursed, I realized that the love I felt for Lee back then wasn't just about physical desire. I also realized that the true evil was on the side of ones that hate, not with the ones that love. The devil is in the ones that make the others suffer for things that they cannot change.

But I know I should have warned you, I should have told you that one day or another someone would destroy what you and Dean had. I really should have, but I couldn't." Mr Armitage's voice broke, he swallowed his tears. "I couldn't be the one tearing apart your dream of happiness in the arms of the only one you can truly love. I'm sorry Aidan, I'm really sorry."

Aidan could see that his former teacher was heartbroken and somehow it eased Aidan's pain to have someone he could share it with.

"Yes, we live in a cruel world, Aidan, I knew all this would happen. The young Master O'Gorman knew it too. That's why he came to me the day before he got arrested."  
Aidan almost chokes on his whisky, "He did?"

"Yes, and he told me what happened in the woods the day you were injured. He told me how these three men had found death and why."

Aidan stood up and stiffened, without really knowing why he was reacting that way.

"He told you? Why? Why you? "

"He told me that you were clever and if you had chosen me as a friend, it meant he could trust me. That's why you are not the only one to know that Dean O'Gorman is innocent."  
Aidan fell back again in his chair and buried his face in his hands. "And what for? There is no way we can avoid this execution to happen, " he said, desperate, punching the table angrily with his fist, "This town is filled with Reverend Blackhawk's obedient puppets, and the thing he wants the most right now is Dean's head. The O'Gormans have money, and money is influence, but they hide in their mansion and have given up on their son. For them, he's already dead. I heard once about a woman who had written a letter to the King and he agreed to spare her husband's life because they had ten living kids. But Dean is not married, he has no wife or children to take care of and he is suspected of buggery. There is nothing we can do Richard… nothing…"

"We must pray that good men will see the light of truth before the end." Mr Armitage whispered.

"Mr O'Gorman also knew there was not much hope for him if he got arrested," he added, "and his plan was to be arrested so the attention will be on him and not on you. That's why he gave me something I had to keep and give you if he died. But I guess it doesn't change anything if I give it to you now."

The bookseller searched in a wooden chest near the fireplace and took a huge leather binder out of it. Aidan recognized it immediately. It was the folio where Dean was keeping his drawings and sketches.

"He wanted you to have it" Armitage said simply, placing it in Aidan's hand with a certain amount of respect and reverence.

Aidan was shaking with emotions; these drawings, poems, paintings, they were Dean's soul. Dean wasn't of the talkative kind. All his thoughts, joy, frustrations, remorse, his love for Aidan, all of this was expressed through the work of his hands, holding a pencil or a paintbrush, tracing figures or words on the paper.

The young man put the folio on the table carefully and ran a hand on the cover of rough and used leather. "Can I?" he asked.

"I guess you can, it's yours now", the bookseller said, resting his hand on the younger man's shoulders.

"Did you open it yet?" Aidan asked.

"No! Of course not, it's intimate matters. I would never allow myself to violate such a private thing."

Aidan gave him a grateful look, then stared back at the folio on the table; this object was so much more than a pile of paper sheets. Somehow he was afraid of what he would find in it. He had already seen most of Dean's artwork but he had seen it in happier times, when he thought that they were both invincible. Now he was scared of all the memories it could bring back. He was frightened that it would aggravate his pain that was already unbearable. In the last days, Aidan had learnt that a bleeding wound could always deepen more.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Mr Armitage asked softly.

Aidan looked at him above his shoulder, "No. No, I want you to stay," he replied softly. The bookseller squeezed his shoulder lightly and Aidan offered him a tired smile. The presence of his former teacher was giving him some courage. The young man took a deep breath before he detached the cord that kept it close and flipped open the leather cover.

The first three sheets were portraits of Aidan.

The first portrait was just Aidan's face, with a huge cheeky grin that was threatening to split his face in two. The young man wondered how many weeks had passed since the last time he had smiled like that. The second portrait was a more complex one of Aidan singing happily while shearing a sheep. The third was Aidan reading, seated on a chair, frowning hard with concentration, looking almost aggressive.

Mr Armitage couldn't help but chuckle, "Even as a boy, you always did this face while reading," he says, still laughing fondly, than his voice softened, "he captured it very well, he is very talented."

"Yes, he is." Aidan replied, holding back his tears.

He had already seen those portraits and until now, all he saw in them was himself, his gestures, his expressions, his energy, captured almost perfectly with all the talent Dean could show. But now he was looking at them differently. It was the same drawings but now he could also sense Dean's presence behind them. It still was Aidan's face on them but he could feel and see his lover under each line, each curve, each shadow. The drawing represented Aidan alone but was born from Dean's eyes, hand and heart, it was also him, it was them and it was heartbreaking.

Dean never drew any portrait of himself and when the brunet asked him why, his lover had replied with a little laugh "because I only draw beautiful things". Now, the dark haired peasant wished his lover had made at least just one self-portrait.

Aidan knew that if he decided to keep on with his life after Dean's death, it was a matter of only a few years before he started forgetting one by one those little things that made Dean's face perfect. Within two years he would probably forget those wrinkles that were forming on his forehead when he was listening carefully and the way he always licked his lips slowly before answering any serious question. Within three or four years, he would probably forget the little crack crossing his chin and the one on the tip of his long elegant nose. After six years he wouldn't even be able to remember precisely the shape of the dimples that appeared on Dean's cheeks when he was smiling. He would even forget the sound of his laughter and voice.

The lump in Aidan's throat became painful. "It doesn't matter how much you loved the other person, it always fades away," he thought. He knew it from experience. He had adored his grandma -- she had died when he was thirteenth. Now, in Aidan's memory, she was a couple songs learned by heart, a blue dress, a lavender scent and a vague feeling of warmth and affection. He couldn't even remember the color of her eyes. In ten years, Dean would be a name, a lost love, some blond hair and blue eyes, and Aidan would remember he was the most beautiful man he ever saw but wouldn't be able to recollect all the reasons why.

 

He flipped several other pages of poems and drawings, each one bringing back images of love, care, kisses, bright pale eyes sparkling with passion and creativity.  
Suddenly, an old yellowed crumpled envelope, hidden between two landscape sketches, attracted Aidan's attention. He had never seen it before.  
He opened it. There was several folded sheets in it. He unfolded one, it was another drawing, though it wasn't Dean who had drawn this, it was Aidan. He recognized immediately the clumsy sketches of their tree that he had sent to Dean when he was serving in the army.

"I recognize this," Armitage commented "you did it, did you?" The older man remembered when he was writing the address of the military fort on the envelopes for his student who didn't knew how to write yet.

"Yes," Aidan breathed.

"He kept them all," Aidan added, whispered for himself. He unfolded ten other drawings. He hadn't seen these since he had sent them almost thirteen years ago and was in awe that his lover actually conserved his poor attempts at artwork all those years.

"I'll make us some tea…" Mr Armitage murmured, he patted the brunet's shoulder and receded to get the kettle.

Aidan nodded, not really paying any attention to what the older man just said. He had found something interesting. On the back of one of the drawings, an eighteen-year-old soldier Dean had written a snippet of his thoughts and concerns.

_The other soldiers of my barrack love to talk about girls, the ones they love and the ones they just want to sleep with. They asked me if I had a favorite lass back home. I had no girl to talk about so I invented a fair maid with dark curly hair, pretty brown eyes, a bright smile and a beautiful lean body. They seemed to believe me. When they questioned me to know if she had a big breast I didn't knew what to say, I was so embarrassed. I told them that she hadn't a big one but that she had nice shoulders. When they asked me what her name was, I said "Aida". Yesterday, Hunter asked me if I would propose to her when I come home. I replied that I would like to but that I was sure that our parents would not allow it._

 

Aidan couldn't help but smile while reading those lines. Back then, he would probably have been outraged that Dean talked about him as a girl and he would have protested angrily that he was not a "molly". That was probably the reason why his lover never told him about this. But now that he had grown up, Aidan understood his lover's reaction. Back then, Dean was a young adult, in love with a boy he wasn't sure would ever return his feelings but fighting against these feelings at the same time. Carrying the burden of a forbidden love and being unable to share it with anyone because of the constant fear of being bullied. That must have been hard for his lover who was trying to survive and make his place in the very manly environment of the British army.

Now, Aidan wasn't offended by the gender switch, he thought it was utterly adorable and was proud to have been Dean's "Aida" once. He smiled fondly and caressed the paper with his fingertips like it was his lover's skin, as if he was able to touch his Dean through those innocent words written more than a decade ago. In the first few years of their relationship, Aidan had secretly wondered if it would have been easier if one of them had been born a girl. He had had his answer when they went to the Adkins' mansion in Woodhills. He had realized that if the gender issue hadn't pulled them away, the social status would have done it anyway.

He was looking at the other paper sheets in the envelope when he noticed a detail that wasn't on his original drawings of their tree. The old oak had a big root, coming out of the soil, and Aidan, for the sake of realism (and trying to impress his friend), had taken care to draw this root in every one of his sketches. Someone, Dean more likely, had added a little "X" of red ink right next to the root in every drawing. Aidan sensed that it was somehow a message addressed to him.

Mr Armitage was coming back with two cups of tea so Aidan put the drawings quickly in the envelope and shoved it in is coat inner pocket.

"Thanks" he whispered and took the cup the bookseller was offering to him.

He took a tiny sip of the hot beverage and put it away on the table, focusing his attention on the contents of the leather folio again. Mr Armitage sat by his side, drinking his tea and watching Aidan who resumed flipping years and years of artwork pages. A new episode of Dean's life was passing before his eyes with every new page he turned and for Aidan it was both wonderful and awful.

He finally arrived at the last page and his heart almost stopped when he laid eyes on it. On the foot of the painting, there was a date: October 26, 1707, three days before Dean got arrested.

The bookseller stood up and bent over the table to look at the painting too, equally fascinated.

Aidan's prayer had been answered. It was a portrait of Dean, the only one he ever made… but at the same time it wasn't exactly a self-portrait. The blond artist had already drawn some historical subjects. Aidan remembered a painting of several ships on a raging sea that was representing the defeat of the Spanish invincible Armada. But until now, he had never seen Dean painting or drawing any religious subject.

Dean had painted himself wearing a silver-like armor. He was mounted on a wild black horse that was treading on the neck of a scales covered monster with eyes red as the flames of hell and smoke coming out its nostrils. Dean was holding a long spear and was piercing the heart of the beast with the sharp end. His face was shining with a ferocious beauty, his face and short golden hair irradiating of an inner light.

This painting was both breathtakingly beautiful and troubling.

"Saint George slaying the dragon," Mr Armitage whispered from under Aidan's shoulder, "it's really impressive."

Aidan nodded. He had already recognized the iconography of the patron saint of England.

The bookseller ran the tip of his forefinger on the painting, along the long line of the monster's neck. "The dragon is supposed to represent Satan, the evil."

"I know." Aidan replied, "but I don't understand why Dean painted that."

"Me neither Aidan… me neither," Armitage sighed. He left the room but Aidan barely noticed it, still looking at the painting and trying to figure out what was Dean's message.

There was a pocket in the folio's back cover where Dean was usually putting his pencils and charcoals. Aidan thought it was empty but there was a tiny piece of paper inside it. The young man contemplated it a moment and seriously thought about burning it. He was tired, so exhausted. His heart was already shattered in a million pieces, his eyes were unable to cry anymore, he didn't thought he could take more. But he had the urge to read those words, he knew he would regret all his life if he burned it.

He unfolded it.

_My little raven, my only love,_

_Be brave, I know you can._

_I give this for you to remember me and to remember that I'll never be too far you cannot reach me with a thought._

_Dean_

 

Aidan kissed the letter.

He closed the folio but keep the piece of paper in his fist. He leaned on the table and rested his chin on his forearm, staring blankly at the flame of the candle. It wasn't the morning yet, he still had to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like it, there is still one more to come, maybe two. 
> 
> Please take 10 seconds to leave your thoughts in the comments section, you would make my day, maybe even my week. <3
> 
> once again, thanks to my awesome beta: blue_butterfly


	5. The Taste of Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time Aidan had imagined this day it was gloomy, rainy, cold—reflecting somehow the darkness and nothingness in his heart. The weather wasn't allowed to be so brilliant on a day like that. It was almost like God welcomed Dean's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: 
> 
> The tag "it can be emotionally difficult to read" is especially relevant for that chapter. 
> 
> Angst, angst, angst, tears, tears, tears and more tears, don't read if you don't want to cry. I think you are sufficiently warned now, read at your own risks. 
> 
> I'm so sorry for that chapter but somehow, it HAD to be written, so PLEASE don't hate me... too much.

 

Aidan protected his eyes from the bright morning sun with one hand and lifted his head to throw a look of reproach to the sky. Every time Aidan had imagined this day it was gloomy, rainy, cold—reflecting somehow the darkness and nothingness in his heart. The weather wasn't allowed to be so brilliant on a day like that. It was almost like God welcomed Dean's fate.

 

The young farmer made his way to the market place, trying to avoid attracting the citizens' attention. But apart from a couple nasty insults, they left him alone. The crowd began to gather in front of the prison building and Aidan found a place half-hidden behind a cart of hay from where he could observe the main door of the prison.

The young man was twisting his fingers and hands with nervousness, scratching the coagulated blood on his knuckles; but without feeling any pain or even itching. The wound on his hand was from when he had slammed the floor of his parents' barn with his fist and it seemed like it was several months ago, but merely one day had passed. The young farmer was feeling sick from fear and stress, all his body was numb like he had no legs and arms anymore, just his eyes to see… and his ears to hear. And he wished he hadn't the last ones because he couldn't help but hear what the citizens were saying.

"It's collar's day!" A man was telling his companion.

"Yep, look at all the people who came to see O'Gorman dancing the Paddington frisk at the end of his rope," the other commented.

The thought alone was unbearable. Aidan clenched a fist in the fabric of his shirt, on his stomach, and he threw up on one of the cart's wheel. He coughed a couple times, trying to keep his coughing as low as possible. He didn't want to be noticed.

Fortunately, the men didn't seem to notice his presence and continued to chat.

 

Aidan dried his cold and sweaty forehead with his sleeve and leaned his back against the cart, hoping he would not faint on the spot.

Dean's words in his last letter, the one Aidan had found in his leather folio, echoed in his head like his lover was whispering them in his ear:

_My little raven… Be brave_

"No, I can't Dean, I can't…," he pleaded in his mind.

Invisible hands cupped Aidan's face gently and thumbs traced the contours of his cheeks.

_Be brave, I know you can._

"NOOo, I'm telling you I can't, I'm not… I'm a coward. I'm dying of fear right now. You've always been fearless for two, you never taught me how to be courageous -- I never had to be brave when I had you."

He felt Dean nuzzling softly behind his ear, pressing a kiss there and murmuring again.

_Be brave._

"Why aren't you there with me, Dean? I need you now more than ever. Why is life so cruel that when you experience the most awful pain, the only person that could ease that pain is precisely the one who will never be able to comfort you again."

_I'll never be too far you cannot reach me with a thought._

"That's not enough for me Dean, not nearly enough."

 _Remember me…,_ the voice added and Aidan could feel the soft pressing of a forehead against his.

"I don’t want to remember you!" Aidan snapped back, angry and desperate, trying to push back his lover that wasn't really there: "It will be too painful. You will stay there, in my memory, slowly fading away but keeping torturing me forever, reminding me of all the things I will not be able to have anymore. I don't want to remember you-- I want to hold you against me. I want to smell the scent of your hair. I want to rest my head on your thigh while you are drawing. I want to read you Sophocles' tragedies all over again, because I know it makes you laugh to tears every time I take a big dramatic voice to read King Creon's part in Antigone. I want to sing your favorite songs and pretend to be annoyed when you ask me to sing the same song two times in a row. I want to catch you looking at me stealthily during the pastor's sermon at the church. I want to feel your hot breath on my skin while I make love to you. I want another of those stupid frilled shirts you offer me each Christmas and wear it just to make you happy even if we both know how much I hate them. I want to hear you say how beautiful I am, because I'm a vain bastard and I love when you say it. With you gone, who will tell me I'm beautiful? Nobody thinks I'm beautiful and valuable but you. Nobody knows me but you. I don't want to remember you, Dean. In fact, I know how much I'll hate to remember you. "

 

Aidan couldn't tell exactly how but suddenly, he wasn't hidden behind the cart anymore. He was in the crowd with the other villagers that were waiting for the prisoner to show up. Nobody seemed to notice that Aidan was there. All the gazes were fixed on the prison's door and when it opened, it was like the market place had suddenly become a piggery. Groans, insults, cries were coming from all sides like if St. Peter's citizens had suddenly been turned into crazy animals. "They all look like squealing pigs," Aidan noticed with disdain.

Even if he was taller than most people, Aidan wasn't able to see what was going on in front of the prison door. It was only when they made Dean step on the platform of a wooden cart and when the executioner tied his hands in front of him that Aidan was able to see him. His legs were naked and he was wearing a white shirt that was covering him from the neck to the knees. That was the traditional clothing of a prisoner on the day of his execution --the absence of pants being the ultimate humiliation for the condemned.  
Dean was looking blankly at the crowd, his downcast eyes not really seeing it. He didn't seem to be afraid-- he seemed tired and had black circles around his eyes.

Aidan wasn't able to do anything else than watch when the executioner pushed him aside roughly in order to make room for the justice lieutenant who stepped on the cart to be seen by the crowd.

 

He unfolded a sheet and read the sentence out loud for everyone to hear.

_"Dean O'Gorman, thou art convicted of three murders on the persons of Timothy Blackhawk, John Barker and William Barker. The law is that thou shalt return from hence, to the place than thou camest and from thence to the place of execution. Where thou shalt hang by the neck till the body be dead."_

The crowd cheered. Aidan shivered and held back tears of anger.

 _"And the Lord have mercy upon thy soul,"_ the lieutenant completed when the noise of the crowd allowed him to. The lieutenant stepped out of the cart, vanishing from Aidan's sight.

The executioner put his hand on Dean's shoulder and pushed him down to make him sit in the cart. Aidan clenched his fists. "Don't touch him," he hissed under his breath but there was no way possible the executioner could hear him.

Moments later, the crowd split to let the cart pass through the market place. Aidan saw that it was McTavish who was guiding the horse by the bridle. The justice lieutenant and the executioner were following on their own horses and just behind them was, of course, Reverend Blackhawk who was smiling at the crowd like he was attending to a wedding.

Dean was keeping his head low and heavy, like he was sleeping. When the cart passed near him, Aidan noticed that Dean's back was leaning on a long rectangular wooden box that had been put in the cart with him, along with a ladder.

"It's his coffin," Aidan understood suddenly, feeling like someone had just stabbed him in the chest with a serrated blade. He thought he would vomit again, but somehow he managed not to.

He wondered why there was only one coffin in that cart.

He and Dean had always shared what mattered--their body heat at night, laughter in the dark -- they had shared their dreams, joys and their sorrows. It made no sense for Aidan that they couldn't share a same fate, death and coffin -- the same place under the cold ground, side by side.

 

The crowd was following like a procession on St.Peter's main street, shouting, chatting, behind the cart that was leading Dean to his death. Some were even singing ribald and drinking songs.

Aidan followed as well, trying to make his way in the crowd as close as possible to the chariot.

When the procession arrived in front of the Olde Goose, the citizens demanded a pause so they could buy pints of ale and other drinks. McTavish made the horse stop in font of the tavern, on the opposite side of the street. While people were too busy exchanging money and getting into the tavern to purchase ale to pay any attention to him, Aidan took advantage of the confusion to approach the cart. No one tried to stop him but he knew the executioner was keeping an eye on his prisoner from the top of his horse.  
"Dean?" the young man breathed softly.

Dean lifts his head up and looked at him. "Aidan," he greeted him weakly. The shadow of a smile passed on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. "I told you not to come…"  
"I couldn't stay away and leave you alone." Aidan answered. He reached out to take his lover's tied hands in his but Dean jerked back violently, making Aidan jump.

"No! Please! Don’t touch me! " Dean snapped, "he's looking at you, he knows, I'm sure he knows."

The younger man followed his lover's gaze to see that the pastor was staring directly at them from the shadows under the tavern's porch, his eyes shining with a disturbing red glow.

"You really shouldn't have come, love. They will hang me in our tree" the blond murmured, shaking his head.

"I know…" Aidan answered in a broken sob. He couldn't believe fate hated them that much.

 

"I wish this place would have only kept good memories for you, I wished it would be a place where you could go to be at peace and feel like I'm near to you, " Dean added pitifully.  
Aidan looked in the blue eyes of the man he loved, the words were failing him.

He hadn't the chance to say anything anyway because one second later he was pushed aside by already rather intoxicated men who grabbed Dean. One of them, a huge guy with a red head, had a bottle of cider in his hand. He grabbed the blond's jaw, forced him to open his mouth and to tilt his head back. He poured cider in Dean's mouth, laughing, "Enjoy your last drink O'Gorman, if we get you drunk enough, you'll not even feel the rope." His companions chuckled. The man let him go and Dean managed to swallow the alcohol. But as soon as he did, the man grabbed another bottle that his friend was handing him and forced the blond to drink again. This time, Dean chocked and spat the liquid all over his shirt.

"Leave him alone!!!" Aidan shouted, trying to push them away.

"What do you want, bugger!?" the red haired man asked him, "You want to drink too?"

Aidan didn't reply to the insult and stood between the man and the cart, shielding his lover with his body. "Step away from him!"

"Ohhh, I understand," the man laughed, "you want your murderer's arse for you alone! Go ahead. No reason for you to be jealous, I love them with bigger tits."

Aidan growled, ready to attack.

"Aidan, go away!" Dean ordered with all the strength he could find in him.

Aidan didn't move.

"I said, GO AWAY!" Dean shouted. Aidan jumped but stood still, determined to protect his beloved with his life, even if it was useless.

 

McTavish appeared from nowhere and separated the opponents, pushing Aidan and the men away from the prisoner. He snatched the bottle from the red-headed man and put it in Aidan's hands. "Take it, you'll need it more than them," the Scot told Aidan.

The prison guard grabbed the horse's bridle and the villagers had no choice but get out of the tavern and follow him as he continued down the street.

Aidan took a sip from the bottle, his sense were so numb it had absolutely no taste.

 

 

They left the town and continued on the bumpy roads that crossed the fields in the direction of the woods.

Aidan was watching his lover from afar. He looked lamblike, resigned.

The dark haired man made his way to the cart.

"You're fine, Aidan?" Dean wondered when he noticed that Aidan was walking quietly along the cart.

Dean was still wondering if Aidan was fine and he was the one in the death row.

"How could I be fine?" Aidan pointed out in a bitter voice.

Dean sighed sadly. "It's almost over, little love, almost over," he tried to reassure him.

"It'll never be over for me," Aidan replied but Dean ignored him.

"I didn't want you to be there and you shouldn't be there…" Dean began, offering him a weak smile, " but you are beautiful, as ever, and I hope you'll be the last thing I'll lay my eyes on."

 

Aidan took one of his lover's wrists in his hand and this time Dean didn't push him back. It was as if they were alone anyway. It seemed like the crowd had disappeared from around them. There was just the two of them on the little path that was crossing the rye fields under the sun, holding hands, Aidan walking slowly near to the cart and Dean looking at him with his pale eyes. The black haired man rubbed a thumb soothingly on the artist's pulse point on the inside of his wrist, trying to comfort them both. However he had to struggle with himself not to think about the fact that it was probably the last time he felt his beloved's heart beating.

 

 

They arrived in the meadow where the tall oak seemed to wait for them.

The executioner chose a solid branch and used the ladder to climb and tie the rope securely with the skills of someone who had done it countless times.

Aidan wanted to squeeze Dean's hands a last time, but his lover was dragged away from him before he could.

The executioner forced Dean to climb on the ladder before him and placed him so the prisoner could face the crowd and was standing balanced on one of the ladder's bars without falling… yet.

The justice lieutenant cleared his throat and began to read the sentence all over again, " Dean O'Gorman, thou art convicted…"

But Aidan wasn't listening. All he could do was trying to figure out how he would survive what was coming. Dean didn't seem to be listening to his sentence either. He was looking somewhere over the horizon like he was enjoying the view of the nature that had inspired him for a last time. The autumn breeze was playing with the short golden strands of hair on his forehead. He looked so beautiful, noble and courageous. "My archangel, my saint", the young man thought.

"… and the Lord have mercy upon thy soul," the lieutenant concluded.

"Do you ask for the Lord's forgiveness and repent for your sins?" the pastor asked him while the executioner passed the slipknot around his neck. Dean didn't try to struggle.

"God knows I regret all my sins," Dean answered with a loud voice and an expression of lordliness on his face, gazing at the crowd gathered in the meadow from above.

And then, the blonde's expression softened. He tilted his head on the side and look down in his lover's eyes. "All of them, except one…" he added gently.

"Then you'll burn in hell for that one sin," Blackhawk concluded with vemon in his voice.

"Fine," Dean answered blankly, not even bothering to look at the pastor, "I'll be there waiting for you, Reverend."

 

For a moment, Dean's face seemed to shine from its own light, exactly like in the painting of St. George. He was still looking in Aidan's hazel eyes, Reverend Blackhawk completely forgotten like he never existed at all. Dean had this warm smile on his lips, adoration and fondness painted on his gorgeous features. It was exactly the same smile he had had, twelve years ago, when Aidan was snuggled in his strong arms and had told him "I want to be your lover, Dean." There were still the remains of the heat and the warm scent of the hayloft in the blonde's smile, along with the relief and the indescribable joy of a requited love. This smile was the last gift Dean could offer to the man he had spent his life protecting and cherishing.

Aidan understood his lover would not show his fear to him. He would smile until the very last moment. The artist was still trying to spare his beloved the horror of the scene that was playing before his eyes—still trying to protect him, always trying to protect him. That was how Dean had been all his life and Aidan wished all the people gathered there, under the tree that had been the witness of the birth of their love and that was now the one of its death-- that these people, along with Aidan, could see the real man Dean O'Gorman was. Not a soulless murderer but the man that was so filled with love and selflessness that he could smile sincerely even with a rope around his neck in order to reassure the love of his life. It was in tribute to his beloved's fortitude that Aidan found the inner strength to smile back through his tears.

 

The executioner tightened the slipknot around his neck and climbed down the ladder.

"Something's wrong," Aidan suddenly thought.

Aidan looked up at the branch where the rope was tied and it took him a half second to understand what was wrong. The branch was too low and the rope too short. There was no chance for Dean's neck to break with this short rope when he'd fall, like it would on a real gallows. It would take several long minutes of pain before Dean passed out from the lack of air and stopped suffering. The young man remembered Dean's frightened confession when they were together in his cell, "I'm scared that they will let me die slowly, I just hope they'll make it quick". He felt a cold panic growing in his stomach.

He crossed Reverend Blackhawk's gaze. The pastor was looking at him with a little nasty smirk of victory. That was his plan all along, Aidan realized, he wanted to see the murderer of his son suffer as long as possible. The pastor's eyes still had this demonic glow and Aidan had the odd thought that this gaze was strangely familiar. Blackhawk's eyes were red like the fires of hell.

 

"The dragon!" Aidan thought, " he is the dragon from Dean's painting, the devil."

The panic strangled Aidan. He couldn't let this happen, but he wasn't able to make a sound, let alone to move. It was like his legs were made of granite.

"You can proceed," the justice lieutenant ordered to the executioner before Aidan could say something.

 

Dean's eyes hadn't left his lover's face, the secret intimate smile never leaving his lips. It was only when he knew he still only had a few seconds to live that he parted his lips and mouthed those three words that were, and always been, for Aidan only.

 

 

 

_I love you._

 

 

The executioner pulled the ladder down and Aidan's heart stopped beating. All he could do was watch, his eyes wide with silent terror.  
Dean lost ground and fell.

 

The sound that escaped Aidan's throat wasn't human. It wasn't a word of any known language. It was voiced pain and heartbreak --the sound of a soul being torn apart. It didn't even sound like his own voice. It was in every way similar to the combined desperate cries of the women he had heard at the execution at Woodhills long ago.

Dean was making those horrible choking noises. Aidan wanted to cover his eyes and ears and curl in a ball on the ground. He didn't want to see or to hear it, it was unbearable, but at the same time, he knew he HAD to do something. He couldn't let him suffer like that.

 

He shoved away anyone who could try to prevent him from reaching Dean… but fortunately, nobody attempted to.

 

He clenched his arms around his lover's legs and added his own body weight to Dean's, trying to quicken his passing because he knew there was no way to save him. He didn't want him to suffer more than necessary and hoped that Dean would understand why he was doing that.

"I'm sorry Dean, I'm so sorry. Forgive me please… Forgive me my love…" he cried, mad with pain, pressing his face on the skin of Dean's legs, his eyes firmly shut.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, sobbing and hugging the lifeless body of his lover when he felt a strong hand grabbing his shoulder. He tried to push it away but failed, like his arms weren't attached to his body anymore.

 

"Aidan…" a low voice urged him softly; Mr Armitage's voice. "Ssshhhh, it's over Aidan… it's over, I got you…"

 

Aidan opened his eyes, the bookseller's hand was still on his shoulder and through his tears he saw that the candle was extinguished.

 

 

 

To be continued.

I'm so sorry.


	6. Fog and Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armitage didn't really have to ask Aidan what his dream was about. The way Aidan was sobbing and repeating Dean's name like an endless lament was enough for him to figure it out. Anticipating this day for weeks, it wasn't so surprising that his former student would dream about the execution. It was logic, but no less heartbreaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry i took so long to update. Blame it on school. My semester finish tomorrow so the next chapter will follow quickly... i hope. Thanks for sticking around. 
> 
> WARNING: tears, grief and despair. ANGST ANGST ANGST. mention of suicide. read at your own risk. 
> 
> beta: ceallaig1 (thanks my dear!!)

 

 

 

"There, there lad…it's over…" Armitage whispered, rocking the trembling man in his arms. Aidan was still seated on the chair where he had fallen asleep. The bookseller had heard him scream in his sleep and had rushed upstairs to see if he was fine.

Aidan was clinging tightly to the bookseller's waistcoat, crying desperately against the older man's shoulder.

Armitage didn't really have to ask Aidan what his dream was about. The way Aidan was sobbing and repeating Dean's name like an endless lament was enough for him to figure it out. Anticipating this day for weeks, it wasn't so surprising that his former student would dream about the execution. It was logic, but no less heartbreaking.

"Dean…I'm sorry…. Dean…" Aidan kept repeating, like it could erase the horrible images from his mind.

"I know, Aidan… I know…" the bookseller murmured, holding him and petting his hair gently, trying his best to calm a grown man the pain and the fear had turned into a vulnerable child. What could he say to comfort him anyway? That it was only a bad dream? That Dean was fine? No, he certainly couldn't, that would be an insult to Aidan's intelligence. What Aidan was living was a nightmare in itself and simply waking up would not end it… and Dean was anything but fine.

After long minutes, Aidan's tears began to dry and his breathing to calm down. Eventually, the bookseller let go of him. Aidan was still shaking slightly, drained and pale. He looked like someone who just woke up from a trance, trying to figure out where he was and if he was still dreaming.

"How long did I sleep?" Aidan asked, his voice croaky from the crying.

"I don't know, I was in the shop downstairs; not more than an hour, I guess."

"What time is it?" Aidan asked, rubbing his red eyes with his shirt's sleeve.

"The sun will rise in about an hour," Armitage replied carefully, he didn't want to elicit another panic crisis.

Aidan shivered, staring blankly at the extinguished candle, but said nothing.

"I don't think it's a good idea to wait in silence, do you?" Mr Armitage asked him.

Aidan didn't react, lost in thoughts and memories of his nightmare. The images were still so vivid, like imprinted in the back of the young man's eyes: the ladder, the rope, Dean's last smile, the evil fire in the pastor's eyes…

"Look what I've found," the older man said, putting a book on the table before Aidan.

"Le Morte Darthur by Sir Thomas Malory," Aidan replied as if reciting a lesson learnt by heart. He caressed the cover of the old used book.

"It was your favorite story. You loved the knights, the king Arthur, the magicians and the enchanted sword. Remember?"  
"It still is my favorite book…"

Mr Armitage took the half-full kettle on the table. He kneeled in front of the fire place and stirred the dying embers with the iron poker. Aidan watched him do in silence. The bookseller placed new logs in the fireplace and hung the kettle above the fire in order to fix some more tea.

"You never sold it?" Aidan asked, taking the book in his hand and opening a page at random.

"No! I was keeping it for you," Armitage replied, sitting back on his chair, "Please, read some for me."  
Aidan stayed quiet, lost in thoughts.

"Please Aidan…" the bookseller insisted. He wanted to distract Aidan from the painful waiting.

Aidan sighed but obliged. _" Why, who is he? said the knight. It is King Arthur. Then would he have slain him for dread of his wrath, and heaved up his sword, and therewith Merlin cast an enchantment to the knight, that he fell to the earth in a great sleep. Then Merlin took up King Arthur, and rode forth on the knight's horse. Alas! said Arthur, what hast thou done…"_

Aidan stopped abruptly and stood up in one move; alerted, like a deer who heard the musket's shot. The book slipped from his hands and fell on the table, completely forgotten.

Armitage stood up as well and their gazes met. The older man hadn't heard anything yet.

"What was that? What's going on?" Aidan asked his former teacher with a high pitched voice. He was a bundle of nerves and the slightest noise made him react violently.

The bookseller frowned and pricked up his ears. Now he could clearly hear shouting outside in the streets. The church's bell's started to peal.

The bookseller limped through the room and opened the window's shutters-- they smelled the smoke, saw orange reflections in the night sky and understood what was going on.

"There is a fire somewhere in town! I have to go see if they need help!" Armitage said, grabbing his cane. "Do you want to stay here?," he asked his former student.

"No… no… I will come with you." Aidan decided, putting on his coat. He really didn't want to stay alone with his dark thoughts.  
They left the bookstore and walked down the dark narrow street as fast as Mr Armitage's leg allowed them to.

According to the shouting they could hear and the smoke that was getting thicker and thicker as they got closer to the marketplace, a horrible presentiment began to grow in Aidan's mind. He exchanged a terrified look with the bookseller and he could see, despite the darkness and the smoke, that his former teacher had had the same thought.

"No, no,no,no…." Aidan murmured in denial like it could actually change something. They reached the main street that was leading directly to the town center.

They finally arrived on the market place, along with several other citizens. The young farmer's heart sank into his chest like a deserted ship. All his body stiffened.

"Mother of god!" Mr Armitage cursed, putting a hand before his mouth and shaking his head, refusing to believe what was happening.  
Aidan stood there, completely paralyzed for a second as he was watching the prison's building burn in the night. There was so much smoke it was actually difficult to see anything but it was a huge fire, a storm of flames and smoke. The roof of the prison was already starting to collapse inside the stone walls. There was no way to save anything that could be inside, the prison was already a complete loss. All the citizens were doing was trying to contain the fire so it wouldn't spread to the other buildings and houses around.

The bookseller wasn't fast enough to grab Aidan's sleeve as the young man cried his lover's name like a dying man and rushed toward the burning prison. He wasn't thinking straight, he was ready to throw himself in the fire to save his beloved or die in the attempt.  
He yelled Dean's name again when he got closer of the prison, coughing and trying to hide is face in his shirt's sleeve. The heat was too intense and he was blinded by the thick smoke as he tried to reach the front door.

Suddenly, two strong arms passed around his waist and dragged him away from the fire. He struggled but the man was stronger than him. He was led against his will, screaming and trying to fight, to the other side of the marketplace, where he could breathe more easily. Aidan coughed, his lungs were burning and his vision was blurred, irritated by the smoke and by the tears of rage, powerlessness and fear.

A large hand was still on his torso, a strong arm around him in order to prevent him from trying to get into the fire again.

"I must… I must … I have to get him out of there," Aidan managed to shout between two fits of coughing.

"It's too late, laddie," McTavish's voice said from behind him as he restrained the farmer who was still trying to struggle, "it's too late, I'm sorry."

"WHY!!" Aidan shouted, his face suddenly distorted with rage as he turned around and grabbed the Scot's collar, shaking him with all the strength he had left. "WHY DIDN'T YOU GET HIM OUT OF THERE!!??!!!! You were there with him. How come you're still alive??"

"I tried, I swear I tried," the prison guard shouted back with a pained voice, grabbing Aidan's wrist to prevent the young man from strangling him," but when I understood what was going on, when I smelled the smoke, it was too late. When I opened the door of the cell room, there was too much smoke, I couldn't see anything. The fire in the room was already too hot, I burned myself with the door's handle." The prison guard showed him a nasty burn in his palm, "I'm sorry Aidan, I knew it was your best friend, but I couldn't lose my life and leave my children as orphans to save someone who was condemned to death anyway. You can understand that right?"  
Aidan nodded, defeated. The Scot let go of his wrist and Aidan's arm fell flabbily at his side.

McTavish is right, the brunet thought. One way or another Dean would have died anyway.

"Trust me when I say it wasn't my intention to let him burn alive, but there is no hope for someone who doesn't want to live anyway," the Scotsman added, letting go of Aidan.

The younger man was about to ask him what it meant when three man appeared through the smoke, calling for McTavish. Aidan quickly retired nearby where he could hear the conversation and hide his face in the shadow of his tricorn. Two of the man were strangers, the third one was none other than Reverend Blackhawk, and Aidan didn't want that he knew he was there.

"You better have a good explanation, McTavish!" the pastor began aggressively.

"How do you explain what happened, Mister Mr McTavish," one of the strangers asked in a calmer voice but no less authoritarian. Aidan deduced by the way he was dressed that it was the justice lieutenant, the one who was supposed to preside over Dean's execution. The lieutenant was an obese man with a white wig and thick black eyebrows. The other stranger, the quiet one, couldn't be anyone else than the executioner, Aidan deduced, even if he couldn't see his face because the man had his back to him.

"The prisoner was locked in his cell, I spent almost all the night in the supply room…" McTavish began.

"Have you talked to the prisoner during the night, Mister Mr McTavish?, the lieutenant asked.

"I did, one time, when I brought him his last meal.

"Did he say something?"

"He thanked me and asked me how many hours were left before dawn, sir, that's all he said."  
"And what time was it?"

"Three after midnight."

"You didn't find it suspicious?" the magistrate wanted to know.

"No sir, I guess I would have asked the same question if I knew I had only a few hours to live," the Scot pointed out.  
Aidan shivered, twisting his fingers almost painfully.

"And after?" the pastor pressed the prison guard.

"I cleaned up the supply room and after that, I got out around five and waited for you outside the prison's door as you instructed in your letter," he told the lieutenant. "I was outside for about thirty minutes when I first smelled the smoke. At first I thought maybe it came from the chimney of a house nearby because the night was quite chilly. It took me a moment to realize the smoke was coming from under the prison's door. When I entered, the supply room was already filled with smoke. I rushed to the cell room and burned my hand on the handle but I managed to open it. The heat was infernal and I couldn't see anything. I tried to enter the room but I knew that if I did I would die, there was no way the prisoner would be still alive in that hell. "

"You are sure he couldn't escape?" Blackhawk insisted.

" I verified that the door was locked after I gave him his food, sir, " the Scot replied.

"And you never heard him scream or asking for your help?" the obese man questioned him.

"No."

"If I may, Lieutenant, this is not unusual," the executioner intervened, "it happens sometimes that the prisoners kill themselves before they could be hanged. Fear and desperation push them to do that."

Aidan shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be true. Dean would have faced his death bravely. Yes, he was afraid when Aidan had seen him for the last time, but it wasn't like him to be a coward.

"Is there a way he could have set fire to something in his cell?" the justice lieutenant asked.

"Yes sir. The floor was covered with straw and there was an oil lamp in the room."

"I think we can easily state that O'Gorman had committed suicide," the executioner added. The justice lieutenant and the prison guard seemed to agree. The pastor however stayed suspicious.

"When the fire is extinguished, we better find evidences of a body in that cell or otherwise I swear it will end badly for you too, McTavish," he threatened the prison guard before going away, followed by the two other men.

The young farmer was left alone. He looked absently at the first gray lights of the morning. Aidan hadn't the need to cry or scream anymore, he felt strangely numb and drained. That was over, finally, after all that pain and suffering and anticipation, Dean was gone. But it seems so unreal that Aidan couldn't really believe it was happening. It was just a matter of time, he thought, before someone came to him, put a hand on his shoulder and tell him softly that Dean was safe somewhere and that he just had to go get him. He would lift his lover in his arms and bring him back home, tug him under the cover in his bed and tell him to get some sleep to recover from all the torments he had endured. He would put a hand on Dean's head and caress his forehead with the side of his thumb until his golden beauty fell asleep. Yes, that's what he would do if somebody could just come and tell him where he could find Dean. The farmer looked around, feeling lost like he never had in his life. But he was still waiting and nobody came.

He took off his coat; gave it to Mr Armitage who had rejoined him, a silent sadness painted on his features. The older man shivered when his gaze met his student's. Aidan's hazel eyes that used to be so lively and bright despite their dark color were now dead. The last sparkle of hope that had remained in them was gone.

The famer rolled his sleeves, found a shovel and went to help the other citizens without a word.

It was the beginning of a long bereavement.

Aidan heard some nasty comments murmured being his back, people insinuating that the fire was Aidan's fault since he was Dean's lover. They were searching for a scapegoat. But they could stone him to death now. It wouldn't make much difference for Aidan, he didn't care. Nothing mattered. He helped to dig a trench, stabbing the earth angrily with his shovel until he was completely exhausted.  
Two hours after the sunrise, dark clouds gathered in the sky and much to the citizens’ relief it started raining. Aidan kept on digging in the mud. It was pointless now since the rain would extinguish the fire sooner or later but the farmer wanted to keep digging, working endlessly like he was digging his own grave. It kept his hands and arms active, if he stopped using that shovel, if he stopped plunging into the cold mud, what would he do? He had no purpose, no goal; nobody was waiting for him and he had nowhere to go. He was shaking under the autumn rain. His body was cold but not him, he felt nothing at all.

By noon, the fire was extinguished. The prison was mainly made of stone and there was not so much wood to burn apart from the roof, the doors and the sparse furniture. Luckily, the fire didn't spread to any other building.

Aidan came out of his trench, his dark curls damp with sweat and rain and his body and face covered with dirt and soot.

The bookseller placed his coat on the younger man's shoulder. "We should go back to my house, I think you can use a warm bath, don't you think?," Armitage offered softly, "there is nothing more we can do here."

"No," Aidan objected firmly, "I want to see him."

"Aidan…," the bookseller sighed when he understood that Aidan was talking about his lover, "I don't think there is…," he tried to choose his words carefully but there was no way to undermine the horror, "I don't think there is much left of his body…"

Aidan wasn't listening-- he was staring at someone on the other side of the place --an old man with a brown coat. There was a woman with him, with a dark curly mane dotted with gray strands. The woman was clinging to the grey wool shawl around her shoulders and the man was playing nervously with the hat in his hands. It seemed like Aidan hadn't seen them for ages, they almost looked like strangers – Mr and Mrs Turner, his parents.

"ohh…" Mr Armitage breathed when he followed Aidan's gaze and saw them.

They hadn't noticed Aidan's presence and the young man hadn't decided yet if he would face them or fly away. The sound of a carriage crossing the marketplace at high-speed interrupted his inner conflict. Aidan recognized the horses of the O'Gorman's carriage.  
The coachman stopped the horses near the bookseller and the young man and they had to step back not to be splashed by the mud under the horses' feet.

The first person to come out of it was Lady O'Gorman.

Aidan was shocked by her appearance. He had never seen her so tired, so pale, so ugly. Dean's mother used to be a beautiful woman but not anymore, grief and anger had ravaged her face. The farmer could tell that she had cried but had tried to hide it with make-up and powder. She was wearing a black dress and Aidan wondered if she was wearing it since her son had been arrested.

She walked a couple steps, staring at the burned prison as the people gathered around started to whisper.

Aidan looked back at the carriage; someone was still inside, he could hear her crying. The coachman opened the opposite door and helped Maggie, Dean's former nanny, to step out of it. She stepped on the ground clumsily. Her hands were shaking and her round face was half hidden in a handkerchief as she tried to contain her sniffing and pitiful hiccups.

" Oh Miss Margaret…" Aidan whispered with compassion. He had a deep affection for the O'Gorman's housekeeper and to see her like that broke his heart all over again.

When she lifted her chin up and acknowledged the desolation in front of her, she stiffened with horror. It was almost like it was the pivotal moment when she finally really realized what was happening -- that Dean would really never come back again. That he would never kiss her on the cheek when he wished her goodnight, never tease her gently, never compliment her on her cooking anymore. Never again.

A long moan of pain escaped her throat, "NO Nooo, my baby!!! MY BABY!" she bawled. She tried to rush toward the prison's ruins but she tripped in her long dress and fell on her knees in the mud.

Aidan didn't think. He just ran toward her to help her up. When she recognized him, she dragged him in a hug, clinging at his soaked wet coat. "Oh Mister Aidan, it's horrible, he… they…," she cried against the farmer's chest. " He was so gentle and kind, there must have been a mistake. He couldn't have killed those men. My poor master, he was still so young-- he was still my boy, my baby…"

Aidan put a tender hand on her head, "I know, I know," he told her, petting her hair, because there was nothing else to say. He lifted his head and looked at the people gathered on the place, because he knew that everybody was looking at them now, and everybody necessarily included his mother and his father. And he was right; Mr and Mrs Turner were staring at him with shocked looks.

"Maggie! Stay away from that man! He is no longer of our acquaintances, and you are not allowed to be in his presence anymore," Lady O'Gorman ordered her servant. " Hadlow! Take her back in the carriage since she cannot stand up by herself," she told the coachman. He took the poor weeping woman from Aidan's arms gently but firmly and walked her to the carriage.

Lady O'Gorman's gaze on the dark haired farmer held nothing but disdain and hate. She turned away from Aidan and noticed the presence of his parents in the crowd. She was trembling with rage as she pointed an accusatory finger on them.

"It's your entire fault," she shouted, "I raised my son correctly. He wasn't like that. He wasn't a murderer and he wasn't effeminate. Your son manipulated him, seduced him like the demon he is. My son was a real man. He would have never done these disgusting and inhuman things if you had made a better job of educating your own offspring in virtue and righteousness, if you had taught him to be a decent man. Your son is a wrongdoer and a pervert and it's his fault if my only child is dead," she spat.

Aidan's father held her gaze. "You're wrong," Mr Turner shouted, for everyone around to hear. He looked at Aidan with disgust. "I don't have a son."

Mrs Turner was staring at the ground, avoiding looking in Aidan's direction. Mr Turner took his wife by the arm and dragged her away without another word.

Somehow, as he watched them disappear from his sight, Aidan knew it was the last time he would ever see his parents.

Lady O'Gorman seemed satisfied and she took her leave toward the prison's ruins.

Aidan felt Mr Armitage's hand squeezing his shoulder from behind. "Don't listen to them, Aidan," the bookseller whispered in his ear, "don't make the same mistake I did. Nothing is your fault. Dean made his own decisions. He loved you, and you never forced him to do so."

"If I didn't exist, he would still be alive," Aidan murmured.

"And he would probably be sad like a stone and empty, wondering why he felt all his life like a half of himself was missing," his former teacher said quietly.

Aidan shook his head, kicking a clod with his boot. "We will never know."

The only thing he knew now was that he wanted to see Dean. That's why he walked toward the prison, followed by the bookseller when he saw that a group of persons, namely the justice lieutenant, the executioner, McTavish and Reverend Blackhawk were about to enter into the ruins.

"I want my son's remains," Lady O'Gorman told the justice lieutenant.

"As soon as we have found them you will have them," he assured her.

The obese man point a finger directly at Aidan, "You! You seem to be a strong man, we need someone to lift the rubble."

"You can't ask him! He… he knew the murderer intimately, he shouldn't be there at all," the pastor interfered.

"This is a small town, I'm sure everybody knew O'Gorman well," the lieutenant snapped, "so stop telling me how to do my job, Blackhawk!"

The pastor clenched his teeth and swallowed his frustration. However, this warning didn't avoid stop him from threatening McTavish again as Aidan cleared a passage though the half carbonized planks and beams that were blocking the door. He heard Blackhawk telling the Scot : "I hope for your sake that there are bones in that cell, you know what happens to men who help murderers or set fire to a public building."

Aidan could swear that the pastor had said it just loud enough so only Aidan and the prison guard could hear it, as if he was accusing them of some conspiracy. In a twisted way, Aidan really wished they would find something. Dean was condemned anyway and Aidan didn't want McTavish to be accused of treason. The poor man didn't deserve it. At least he had allowed him to see Dean and take him in his arms for a last time and for that, Aidan would always be grateful.

When Aidan finally reached the emplacement where the cell used to be, there was not so much to move since pretty much everything had burned down.

Aidan had thought his heart was too dead to feel anything. However, he became nauseous and felt a huge weight sitting in the pit of his stomach when, between two burnt beams, he found the remains of a ribcage and what looked like an arm. The rest of the skeleton had been crushed under the beams that had fallen from the roof.

He stared at it blankly for a moment, forgetting that he should call the others. The time seemed to have suspended its course. Around the young man, in the desolation of the burnt prison, the rain had ceased and the wind had risen. Gray flakes of ashes were floating in the air, falling on Aidan's dark curls like a first winter snow.

The truth seemed to refuse to sink into his mind. So, that was all it was left from the man he loved? It was so ridiculous Aidan nearly burst into laughter. How could it be possible that miles and miles of soft fair skin made to be caressed, that laughing blue eyes and a beautiful thick blond mane could be reduced to a couple of white bones poking out of a pile of ashes? However, Aidan couldn't tear his eyes from it. He dried his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his mud covered shirt, trying to convince himself that this thing was his lover. "What else did I expected, really?" He asked himself. His logic should have told him sooner that this was what he was likely to find in those ruins. But it wasn't right. Dean wasn't supposed to die at all but more than that; he wasn't supposed to die like that.

For sure, a hanged corpse wouldn't have been a pretty sight. But Aidan had hoped that after the execution, after they had let Dean down from the tree and took off the rope, after they had closed his eyes and placed him in his coffin, that they would allow Aidan to stay at least a few moments alone with the body. Aidan would have put his lover's hands together on his stomach like a praying man and squeezed them gently for the last time. He would have pressed a kiss on his cold forehead, wishing him to sleep well until they would be reunited. He would have cry cried, bathing Dean's face with his tears.

But now what? He had nothing to cry on. Fate had taken everything from him, even that. Would he be able to say a real farewell to his lover in that state? He didn't know.

He called the lieutenant. The executioner took all the bones they could gather and put them in a wooden box and the young farmer watched them as if he wasn't really there.

Reverend Blackhawk seemed somehow frustrated by the turn of events but he still had what he wanted—the murderer of his son would end up in hell. "So, it's true then. O'Gorman chose to be a sinner until the very end," he groaned with disdain.

Aidan glanced at him but said nothing. Normally he would have punched him for insulting his lover but no, Dean didn't need to be defended anymore.

When they all came out of the prison, the lieutenant gave Lady O'Gorman the box. She nodded in silence.

"I'm sure you are aware that since your son committed suicide, he isn't allowed to be buried in the holy enclosure of the cemetery," Blackhawk informed her with a venomous politeness.

Aidan clenched his fists but did nothing more.

"I'm well aware of that, Reverend," she replied with lordliness, "my son will rest on our land."

She left without another word, escorted by her coachman, keeping the wooden box tight against her lean breast. Aidan couldn't help but take pity of that woman who was burying her third son, her last child, since Dean's two older brothers were dead in infancy. From that day, two families in St Peter were now without heirs, since the Turners had disowned their only son.

Aidan still couldn't believe that Dean had taken his own life. Why would he do that? Sure he was afraid, who wouldn't be? But Dean wasn't a coward and Aidan couldn't get himself to believe the executioner's theory.

But then something hit Aidan, the last thing Dean had told him in the cell, just before they parted, "don't come, I don't want you to see me like that."

Suddenly it totally made sense. It was so obvious-- Dean had killed himself in an ultimate attempt to spare Aidan from seeing him being hanged. Dean had finally found a way to keep a promise he had made to his lover a long time ago when he had told him, "I'll make sure you'll never see another execution again."

But something still triggered Aidan. How could Dean have set fire to his cell? Sure there was an oil lamp in the same room but the farmer could easily remember that it was outside Dean's cell, he couldn't reach it from inside. Aidan understood why McTavish hadn't mentioned it, it could have been an incriminating detail that could be held against him. The Scotsman had probably lied, thinking that Aidan had given Dean something he could set fire with when he was with him and McTavish had mentioned nothing since the prison guard had let him in illegally. The thing was Aidan hadn't give Dean anything that could set a fire….

_Wait… the lighter…_

When Aidan had left his parent's barn, he had lit a lantern to read McTavish's message and then, he had put it in his coat pocket… the coat he was wearing when he had visited Dean in his cell, the coat he was still wearing right now. He hastened to unbutton his pocket and shoved his hand inside. The pocket was empty.

Dean had probably stolen the lighter before or after they made love. Did he get the idea when he had found it in Aidan's pocket? Had it planned it all along but Aidan's visit had just given him the opportunity? The devil on his last painting, the dragon spitting fire, was it a message, a premonition?

Aidan rubbed his temple with his thumbs. He would probably never know.

Mr Armitage placed a hand gently between Aidan's shoulder blades making the younger man shiver. "Come on Aidan, let's get out of here."

Aidan followed him like an automaton.

 

When they were in his kitchen, the bookseller put some more logs in the fireplace and hung a cauldron filled with water in it in order to fix a bath for the young man.

Aidan stood in the middle of the room, in his wet dirty clothes, looking blankly at the floor's planking, feeling drained.

When the water was hot enough about thirty minute later, Aidan still hadn't move an inch.

The bookseller sighed and stripped Aidan from his coat. The farmer let him, his limbs slack.

"Aidan?" Armitage asked softly, when he realized that his former student wouldn't make a move to strip by himself," do you want a hand to bathe?"

Aidan lifted his head, his blank gaze meeting his teacher's.

"You cannot stay in those clothes…" the older man added softly.

Aidan remained silent, his lifeless eyes staring at Armitage without really seeing him.

"I know it's difficult, laddie," the bookseller began.

Aidan chuckled humorlessly; "difficult" was a laughable understatement.

"I know it's terrible," Armitage corrected," but you still have to wash, and eat, and breathe. You still have to live. That's what Dean would've wanted for you," he told him, feeling a bit guilty of using his student's lover's memory in order to make him do something.  
"You don't know him," Aidan snapped, a bit more aggressively than he intended too to.

But the older man didn't let it trouble him. "I know that he loved you dearly and it's enough for me to know that he would have wanted you to take care of yourself," he replied firmly," and since you don't seem to want to do it, I will."

The taller man stripped the younger from his wet clothes without ceremony and made him sit in the small round wooden tub. The brunet complied, too paralyzed to even think about protesting or being ashamed of his nakedness.

Aidan braced his arms around his bent legs, weak and vulnerable like a newborn child. The bookseller put the cauldron down on the floor nearby, drew the water from it with a mug and poured it carefully on Aidan's naked back.

Despite being bathed in hot water, the farmer shivered. He couldn't warm up since the cold wasn't on his skin but had taken place inside him. He rested his head on his knees and let silent tears drip along his naked legs and mix with the bath's water.

When he was done washing the younger man's hair, Armitage helped him step out of the tub and wrapped him in a blanket.

The bookseller stood in front of Aidan, trying to find the right words. He put a gentle hand on the farmer's face and rubbed his cheekbone tenderly, wishing he could do something to ease the young man's pain. He placed his other hand on the back of Aidan's neck and dragged him into his arms and rubbed his back. Aidan leaned in the embrace like a ragdoll, his head resting heavily on the older man's shoulder.

"I'm really sorry for your loss, my friend," Mr Armitage whispered in his ear. "Don't let anyone understate the pain you feel or try to make you think that your bereavement is trivial because you and Mr O'Gorman were just lovers, not married like a man and a woman. You are just like a widower, Aidan. This man loved you all his life and you loved him back. You have the right to mourn him as such."

"Thanks…" Aidan breathed.

The bookseller put his hands on the other man's shoulder and stepped back to look him in the eyes, "He made me swear on Dante's Paradiso, that I would look after you, and I will honor that promise."

Aidan couldn't help but chuckle fondly, "He made you swear on your favorite book?" Aidan asked, not really surprised. It was so like Dean -- clever, purposeful Dean.

Armitage nodded with a little smile. "You really should eat and get some rest now."

But despite Armitage’s insistence and patience, Aidan refused to eat. By dint of coaxing he finally succeeded in making him drink a few sips of water but knew it was the most he could ask from him.

Aidan also refused to take his host's bed and curled in a ball on the old carpet near the fireplace. The older man kneeled behind the farmer. He covered him with a warm blanket and petted his hair until the younger man closed his eyes.

When the bookseller limped to his bedroom, leaving Aidan alone, the young man opened his eyes and stared at the orange embers in the fireplace. Aidan Turner didn't exist anymore -- he was a giant empty shell with a human form, empty but full, full of pain. He wanted to feel rage as well, be angry at Reverend Blackhawk, Lady O'Gorman, his parents, Dean, for killing himself and abandoning him or to be angry at God himself… but he was too weak to feel at all. He just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

He didn't know if he was asleep or not. It was more a memory than a dream. In fact it couldn't really be a memory, because he was too young when it happened to really remember it now. It was one of those memories about something you've been told years after it happened and your imagination had reconstructed the scene to create the memory.

 

A dark curly haired baby is sitting on a blanket on the O'Gorman's kitchen floor. The baby is crying loudly. A blond haired toddler observes him from behind his nursemaid's skirt.

"Nanny? Why is the baby crying?," the blue eyed little boy inquires.

"I don't know, sweetie," the young woman replies.

"Maybe he is bored," he ponders.

Little Dean disappears to his room to fetch his favorite toy, a broom horse with a red woolen mane. He comes back in the kitchen and put the toy on the blanket in front of the baby. But it fails to dry the tears, so the blond boy go fetches another toy. At the end, the brown haired baby is sitting in front of a pile of toys but still bawls -- his face red and wet.

Dean pries at his nanny, "it doesn't work," he whines.

"How about you just talk to him gently?," she suggests before resuming kneading the bread on the kitchen's table.

The blond boy nods, pushes the pile of toys away and sits on the blanket in front of the other boy. The baby observes him through his tears, hiccupping and sobbing.

Dean peeks above his shoulder at the nursemaid. "I don't know his name," he asks her in the tone of a confession as if he is ashamed of not knowing it yet.

"Mrs Turner told me his name's Aidan," she smirked as she dusts the flour on her apron, watching the children fondly.

Dean locked his eyes with the baby’s brown ones, reaches with care and takes one of his little hands. "Hi Aidan," he cheers.

 

 

Aidan jumped as he opened his eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," Mr Armitage apologized as he placed a plate of grapes on the table.

Aidan coughed. His throat was filled with salty moisture, he dried his face with the corner of the blanket. He had obviously cried in his sleep.

"I went out when you were still sleeping, one of the O'Gormans’ servants was in town and I managed to get some news from Camden House," Mr Armitage informed him as Aidan fall on a chair in front of him.

"What about it?" Aidan croaked, like it was the first time he was using his voice in the last decades, vaguely interested when he heard the name of the O'Gormans’ mansion.

"I'll tell you after you eat something," the bookseller ordered, handing a bowl of hulled grains and a spoon to his former student.

"I'm not that curious…" Aidan snorted. Just the sight of food made him nauseous.

Armitage placed the bowl and the spoon in front of Aidan but the young man blanched and shook his head. The bookseller gave him a pained look. Dean had given him a mission, taking care of his lover, but it would be difficult since it was clear that his student didn't want to live anymore. All he could hope was that time would help soothing Aidan's broken heart.

"Please Aidan," he pleaded. Aidan finally obliged and shoved a spoonful of boiled oat in his mouth. He chewed it without enthusiasm and forced his constricted throat to swallow it. His stomach protested and refused to take more. The farmer pushed his bowl away.

"I learnt that they will bury Dean on the west hill, behind the manor," the bookseller told him, acknowledging his attempt to eat, "the funeral will be this afternoon, I thought you might want to know it."

"What for? I don't think they want me anywhere near them…"

"Near, no, but you can watch from afar. I can go with you if you want. I think it might be good for you if you could say a last farewell to your lover. "

"Maybe…" Aidan whispered. He knew the bookseller was right. He needed it, because somehow, despite the deep pain and the feeling of having a part of himself being torn apart, he couldn't really acknowledge Dean's departure before seeing his remains buried. It was a sorrowful but necessary step to make.

"Then, when the funeral is over, we will have to talk about your future," the bookseller stated, handing a cup to the young man.  
"What future?" Aidan asked before taking a tiny sip of water. He looked down at the liquid in his cup, the absurdity of all this hit him all of a sudden. Drinking, eating, sleeping, breathing… what was the point? Until now, all these little necessities, he had done them without thinking of it because it was what was keeping alive, alive to work on the farm, alive long enough to get to the next moment he would be with Dean but no loving arms were waiting to welcome him anymore.

"The one you need to build from now on," the older man answered, straightening on his chair.

"What if I don't want to?" the farmer replied, avoiding his teachers gaze.

"You have no choice I'm afraid," Armitage objected, crossing his arms.

Aidan opened his mouth like he was about to reply but shut it right away. There was nothing to say.

 

The rain of yesterday had been replaced by a thick fog. Saint Peter's streets were shrouded in a gloomy whiteness. Aidan replaced his tricorn on his head and walked down Eastborough Street like the ghost of a drowned man in an ocean of mists.

Mr Armitage had agreed reluctantly to let him go alone to Dean's funeral.

When Aidan left the town behind him, he took the little path that crossed the Evans' orchard. The air was cold and the apple trees branches were like long black fingers, trying to rip up filaments of fog.

He had taken this trail so many times before to go to the O'Gormans’ house. Usually, walking this path was synonymous with joy and his heart was lighter every time he had followed it, knowing that soon he would see the smile of his love and, if he was lucky, even have the opportunity to steal a kiss or spend a few moments between strong arms. But today each step was hard to make. Aidan tried to forget where he was really going. He sought to reach a part inside himself where the tender memories could maybe ignite a spark of joy in his soul, no matter small it could be. He didn't succeed. It was as difficult as lighting a campfire under a rainstorm.

What was convenient with foggy days is that it helped him remain hidden from sight. Aidan spotted six black silhouettes through the fog on the slope of the hill and he leaned against a tree trunk where he knew they couldn't see him. He recognized Miss Margaret and Mrs O'Gorman and also three of the O'Gormans’ servants. The last one, Oliver, the stable boy, was digging the grave with a shovel. Lord O'Gorman was nowhere to be seen.

Aidan watched from afar as Lady O'Gorman knelt down to put the wooden box in the hole. The farmer tried to gulp and he felt tears misting his eyes when he saw the poor Maggie stepping forward bravely and add a broom horse in the grave, one of Dean's favorite toys when he was a kid. She said a couple shaky words full of tenderness that Aidan couldn't catch just before she burst in tears and step back.

Lady O'Gorman asked the servants to pray for her son's soul and they recited three Pater Noster and three Ave Maria. Aidan joined his hands and murmured the prayers along with them. Praying would not grant Aidan’s dearest wish, it would not give him his sunshine back. But if there was a chance it could help Dean not going in hell, he would do it without hesitation.  
After their prayer died in the silence of the foggy valley, they left one by one, heading toward the house. When Lady O'Gorman dragged Margaret with her away from the grave, there was just the stable boy left behind. The red haired teenager was leaning on his shovel, lost in thoughts when Aidan joined him.

"Hi Oliver…" the brunet greeted him softly not wanting to make him jump.

"Oh Mr Turner," the boy greeted him back, unsure, "the mistress won't be happy if she sees you here. "

"I know," Aidan breathed.

"I thought you would come anyway," Oliver added, "since he was your friend and all."

"Hmm," Aidan nodded.

"You know, he never beat me, not a single time," the teenager stated after a moment of silence. "He was a good master."

"I'm sure he was," the farmer whispered, staring at the wooden box at the bottom of the hole. Dean always been quiet and gentle until someone threatened the one he loved. Those were the rare moments when he showed the lion that was sleeping inside. Dean had been a patient and generous man with everyone and a passionate protective lover with Aidan.

"In town they say he became a murderer because he was bedding lads," Oliver pointed out.

Aidan flinched but he let him continue, obviously, the boy needed to talk.

"Some asked me if he ever tried to bed me against my will. I could have lied, to show off, you know, but I told the truth; the master never touched me. He never did wrong by me. He was kind. He bought me new clothes once, and sometimes he even lent me his horse when I wanted to go in Waymoor to visit me mom. "

Aidan nodded in silence.

The boy lowered his voice and confided, "Don't tell anyone but I do think that if Mister Dean killed those men, it must be because they deserved it! "

The brunet looked at the teenager and saw all the admiration he had had for his departed master sparkling in his eyes. Aidan couldn't help but offer him a little smile as he squeezed his shoulder with compassion.

"Should I… ?" Oliver asked, gesturing toward the hole with his shovel.

"Just a minute," Aidan asked him. He took a handful of earth. He stepped closer of the hole and threw his handful on the box. He had seen people do it in the funerals so he felt he had to do it but it failed to make him feel any kind of closure or relief.

The farmer get out of the way as the boy filled the hole, burying Dean's remains. Aidan watched the broom horse disappear a little more with every shovelful of earth until he didn't see it anymore.

"I guess I should get back to the house," Oliver sighed when he was done planting the austere wooden cross.

"I'll stay here a bit," Aidan informed him.

"I was supposed to guard the place until sunset but I guess no one will try to steal the bones," the farm-boy pointed out.

"No, they won't," the brunet agreed," he is no longer interesting."

People have a dark fascination for hanged criminals, sometimes trying to steal a couple hairs from the body or a piece of their clothes. If Dean had been executed, the whole town would have been there for the funerals. But a suicide wasn't interesting at all.

The red-haired teenager waved at Aidan and left without a word, leaving Aidan alone on the slope of the hill with a cross for only company. Aidan knelt on the ground in front of it and read the inscription.

__Dean Lance O'Gorman VI – 1676- 1707 at the age of 31 yrs and 11 months.__

Aidan let himself fall on his back in the mud and the wet grass, lying on Dean's grave.

As he shifted slightly, he felt some folded paper in his pocket. He had nearly forgotten about that. He reached inside his coat and took the items. There was Dean's last letter. The farmer put it back in his coat. He didn't have the strength to read it again. The other thing he had in his hand was the envelope containing Aidan's drawings, the ones where Dean had traced red crosses on the big root of the old oak. The brunet unfolded one drawing and studied it for a long time, trying to decipher a message.

"What are you trying to tell me, my love?" he murmured, pressing his lips on the paper. He didn't get any answer so he put the envelope back in his coat. He stayed there, staring at the white sky and suffering with every fiber of his being, waiting for something -- for the grim reaper to collect his soul perhaps.

He tried to remember Dean's smell to comfort him but he failed. The memory was slipping away already.

He suddenly cleared his throat. "I can't get myself to believe you are there, under the ground," he told his lover out loud.

"I know you're not here, not really," he continued, "but I don't know where you are so I just wish you can hear me from where you are now." He was surprised of how confident his voice was.

"I've been really mad at you lately. I was angry that you left me alone. I know my anger isn't fair for you -- you did it to save me, because you love me. I just want you to know that I'm not angry anymore. I never had been good at being upset for long when it comes to you. Do you remember what you use to say when we were younger and when I was pouting? You always told me, 'Fine, you know where to find me when you'll want your hug.' You knew me too well. You knew I would never be angry at you for long. And even now, even if you can't hold me in your arms anymore, I can't bring myself to hate you."

He stayed quiet for some time, wondering if Dean could really hear him but he wanted to believe it.

He took a deep breath and when he talked again his voice wasn't so confident anymore. " You … you know what ? You know what hurts the most? It's not that you're gone because you would have died one day anyway. What's hurt the most is that I … " the rest of the sentence stayed stuck in his throat and he couldn't see the sky blur as his eyes filled with tears, "that I wasn't there to hold your hand."  
Aidan closed his eyes and the tears escaped his eyes.

 

That's when it started to rain.

The brunet didn't move, he just laid there under the cold November drizzle. Aidan fisted the grass and let the raindrops washing his face as he welcomed the cold that was sinking in him to his bones.

What would Dean say if he was there under the rain with him? He wondered. He would probably ask him to sing for him to make it better.

Aidan cleared his painful throat.

 

_O my Luve's like a red, red rose_  
 _That’s newly sprung in June;_  
 _O my Luve's like the melodie_  
 _That’s sweetly play'd in tune_

His voice was weak and he was sobbing the song more than actually singing it. It was the one he used to sing when he was wooing his lover.

_Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,_  
 _And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:_  
 _I will luve thee still, my dear…_

 

His voice faded out after this verse. He wasn't able to continue. He had never really understood the meaning of the lyrics until now. Yes, Dean was his precious summer rose and the love Aidan felt for him wasn't dead with him, it continued to live and hence with this love, the unbearable pain of the loss. But why sing where there was no one to listen anymore? No one but the weeping sky and the tears soaked grass.

"That's a lovely song," a voice commented above Aidan's head. The young man opened his eyes.

"You shouldn't stay under the rain, Aidan," Mr Armitage added, reaching a hand to help Aidan up. "Come now," the bookseller added, brushing off some dirt from the younger man's coat, "let's go back to the shop."

 

 

"You are leaving St Peter the day after tomorrow," the bookseller informed him after he had convinced Aidan to change his wet clothes and drink a cup of hot black tea. "You need to get out of this town for a while."

"To go where? " Aidan asked, wrapping himself a bit tighter in the blanket Mr Armitage had but put around his shoulders.

"You'll live at my sister Diana's house. She still lives in my home town. She married a man named Duran from Bristol but she is a widow now and doesn't have kids. She would be glad to have a man helping her with the house and the garden," the bookseller explained, refilling Aidan's cup with fragrant tea.

Aidan stayed silent so Armitage continued. "I'll write you a letter that you'll give to her. My sister is very kind and generous; I know she will treat you like a son."

Aidan lifted his head and looked his former teacher in the eyes. "Thank you very much … for everything, " he whispered.

The older man nodded. "You're welcome. It's me who owe you. You healed a deep wound inside me with your joy, your love for Dean and your simplicity. It was the least I could do. I'm sad I couldn't do more than that. "

Aidan stood up-- he rubbed his forehead with the inside of his wrist. He felt exhausted, living was exhausting. He put a hand on the bookseller's shoulder and forced a smile. "Good night Richard," he murmured.

"Good night Aidan," he replied, putting an affectionate hand on the back of Aidan's neck for a moment.

When Armitage took a look above his shoulder before closing his bedroom's door, he saw Aidan looking blankly at the flames in the fire place, seated on the floor. He didn't know it was the last time he would ever see Aidan Turner.

When he woke up an hour before sunrise, he found his house empty and the book Le Morte Darthur on the middle of the table. He opened the first page and found a note.

_I can't live without him. It's just not possible. I'm sorry. Please don't feel responsible or guilty. It's my decision. Farewell my friend._  
 _A. Turner_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER, THERE WILL BE ONE MORE. 
> 
> thanks for your feedback and comments, they are always greatly appreciated.
> 
> Also- here is a lovely fanart made by Sweetladybat about this story:
> 
> http://oursesolitaire.tumblr.com/post/79607061365/slbarts-drawing-inspired-by-oursesolitaires


	7. The Last Flight of the Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he would have run this bookshop with Richard, maybe even become his lover in an attempt to heal the scars of Dean's loss. He could have gotten used to this life and find some moments of happiness. Yes, maybe that could have been a possibility, but Aidan had chosen another: one we wasn't proud of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: as usual: deep angst, tears and sadness, if you are not prepared for such content, you better not read it. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of a long adventure both for me and the characters. I really hope you'll like it 
> 
> Thanks to my disco devil sista and also to Cellaig1 for the additional corrections.

__

 

 

 

 

_St-Peters, November 1707_

 

Aidan wasn't proud of it at all. He wasn't proud of what he was going to do. Not really because it was a sin, he had accumulated enough mortal sins in his short life, one more wouldn't make much difference in God's eyes. He was ashamed to say farewell to his former teacher and friend with a simple little note scribbled on a piece of paper, but he had no other choice. He placed the message in La Morte Darthur and left the book on the table. He knew Mr Armitage wanted to give it to him as a present but where he was going, he didn't need books anymore, even his favorite one. On the other side, Aidan took Dean's leather folio and he was keeping it close to his heart when he left the bookshop one hour and a half before dawn.

 

___________________________________________________________

_48 hours earlier…_

 

Dean stood still and shivered as he watched his lover leave the room, followed by McTavish.

Once again, he was left alone in his cold prison cell.

He dried his tears and lay down on his back in his heap of straw. It seemed like ages since the last time he had cried for real. The last time was probably when he was 21 at the Adkins mansion. He had cried himself to sleep that night after he had seen the feelings of betrayal in Aidan's eyes. Dean hadn't been strong enough to stand up for his lover and defend him and he was glad Aidan hadn't seen him cry that night. If he had been ashamed of crying it wasn't because he didn't wanted to appear weak in his lover's eyes, or maybe it was a little bit because of it. But it was mainly because Dean knew that his inner strength was one of the main reasons Aidan loved and admired him and he couldn't support the idea of falling down in Aidan's esteem.

But tonight, Dean had showed his vulnerability for the first time in years. He knew he shouldn't have, but he had anyway. But he wasn't crying on his own behalf right now. He was crying on Aidan's. He was afraid his man would do something irreparable in order to rejoin him in death.

"Maybe I shouldn't have treated him like a small bird fallen from its nest," Dean thought with remorse. But frankly, it was stronger than him -- Aidan was constantly arousing his strongest protective instincts. "Maybe I should've loved him differently. Maybe I would have realized and stopped treating him like a fragile little thing and make him grow stronger instead. It's too late now. I have spoiled him."  
Dean's life choices had led him to that point where he would inflict the ultimate horror of a public execution to his little raven. If only there was a way to avoid it, he thought.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. He had the best part to play in all this. He could have never borne the sight of his lover's dead body; he would have felt an indescribable despair. But now, it was Aidan who would have to endure this pain. Dean wouldn't die in the best way, for sure, but being hanged was probably a hundred times more bearable than being the one who has to watch the love of your life die. It wasn't so bad for Dean, when he came to think about it. He had led a good life. He had had his horses and his drawings and paintings. He had been raised and taken care of by the most loving nursemaid in England. The artist's heart tightened a bit when the memories of Maggie flew back to his mind. He had also had a joyful childhood and the best friend a little boy could have. His best friend had grown up into probably the smartest and most attractive man in the county. That same young man had agreed to leave behind whatever fate could have given him in terms of marriage or studies to become his and his only. Dean couldn't help but smile. Life had been really good to him.

The blond closed his eyes. He was still able to feel the remaining but fading sensations of their lovemaking on his body. He could still feel the places where Aidan had dig his fingertips and nails in his skin -- where he had gently bit his flesh. Aidan's musky scent was there. He wanted to keep it on his skin—he would die with the memory of Aidan's passion all over him. He would die stained by a sin he couldn't get himself to regret. He wished he had kept a piece of his lover's clothing to bury his face in right now. Aidan's smell was always soothing and comforting. Dean's mind associated it with love, affection, happiness – things he desperately needed right now. The artist sighed and dried a few more tears from his face.

At the creak of the door opening, Dean raised his head to see McTavish enter the room with a bowl of food in his hands. The blond stood up when the prison guard unlocked the cell's door.

Dean took the bowl and Mc Tavish locked up the barred door after him.

The two men eyed each other. "Thanks," Dean said quietly, "but I'm not hungry." The blond put the bowl on the floor without touching the food in it.

The Scot didn't reply and just scrutinized the artist, like if he was in an intense reflection. Dean couldn't help but feel exposed and small under this gaze.

"What time is it?" the younger man asked.

"About three and a half after midnight," McTavish replied with a neutral voice.

Dean thanked him again. Much to the blond's surprise, McTavish didn't leave right away but took a bucket nearby, put it upside down on the floor and sat on it, still studying his prisoner.

"Did you really kill those three people in cold blood" the guard asked after a moment of silence, "Is that true, what they say about you? That you bed young Turner?" he added bluntly.

Dean frowned but didn't answer.

"You better speak and be honest with me, lad," the guard demanded, "I need to know the truth and I need to hear it from your mouth."

 

_________________________________________

 

The weather was still humid and cold and a thick fog was crawling on the sleeping town. Aidan stopped in the street and turned around to cast a last look to the bookshop's sign. He couldn't really see it in the dark but he didn't need to – he had in his mind the green and golden letters of "Armitage's Bookshop" and the engraving of a badger holding an open book in its paws. Despite the sorrow, Aidan smiled affectionately. Though, he knew he wasn't just leaving behind the life he knew. He was also going to abandon a life that could have been. He could have spent a couple months or years living with Mr Armitage's sister, and then come back to St. Peter when the dust settled. Maybe he would have run this shop with Richard, maybe even become his lover in an attempt to heal the scars of Dean's loss. He could have gotten used to this life and find some moments of happiness, little hints of joy that would have given him the illusion that he wasn't completely dead inside. Yes, maybe that could have been a possibility, but Aidan had chosen another.

 

The dark haired man had a disagreeable impression of déjà vu as he took the same path he had taken to go to his beloved's burial the day before. When he reached the west hill, he didn't stop by Dean's grave, thinking it was pointless and that his lover was elsewhere waiting for him. He headed directly to the O'Gormans' stables. He knew how to enter the stables and not wake up the stable boy. He had an important thing to fetch.

 

He entered the stables like a thief, and when he passed along the boxes' doors, a familiar neigh greeted him. Jasper, Dean's dark chestnut stallion, stamped in its box, trying to catch the young man's attention. Aidan approached the box and put a gentle hand between the stallion's eyes. "Hey, there, there, lad, shhhhh, stay quiet," he whispered, in order to calm the vigorous horse.

"You miss your master, don't you?" Aidan added, running his hand along the long black mane. "But he won't come back, you know? He won't take you out."

The stallion closed its eye and leaned in the touch, breathing loudly through its velvet nostrils.

"How about we have one last ride together, huh?" Aidan suggested. He looked around and found what he was searching for, a long strong rope. He took it, along with Jasper's bridle and put Dean's leather folio on the ground while he was passing the bridle around the horse's neck, trying to stay as quiet as possible. When he was done, he wound the rope and put it on his shoulder and put the leather folio under his arm. He opened the box's low door and used it as a stool to climb on Jasper's back. He didn't have a second to lose bothering with a saddle; Dean had taught him to ride without it anyway. He had unlocked the stables' door already so he just had to kick it with his foot and they were outside.

He pressed the horse's flank with his boot's heels and pushed it to gallop to the top of the hill. He slowed the speed when they were out of Camden House's sight. He trotted along the east road, heading to his ultimate destination: their tree. When he had to leave the road, he jumped off the horse and led him into the woods by the bridle. The forest was awfully quiet, not a bird, not an animal, not a single breath of wind, the woods were motionless, silent, as the sun rose behind the clouds and the fog.

Aidan tied the horse to a tree branch outside the clearing and put the rope on a bush nearby. He chose to leave them there until he needed them. The plan was quite simple, awfully simple when you come came to think about it; climb on the horse's back, sling the rope above a branch of the old tree, tie it there, pass the loop around his neck and kick the horse. The horse would run away, leaving Aidan hanging there. It would only take a handful of difficult minutes before he'd pass away and rejoin his lover on the other side of this life. He didn't know what hell looked like but if he had a chance to find Dean again he would take it, it was that or stay here alone. But before that, he had to know the meaning of Dean's messages, the little crosses on his drawings, before ending it for good.

 

He couldn't see the tree from where he was yet, the fog was too thick. He scratched the stallion behind the ears fondly, took the drawing from inside his pocket and headed up to the tree.

When Aidan saw the old oak emerging from inside the fog like the prow of a ghost ship, he realized he hadn't come back here since the murders. He felt the ancient remains of cold fear crawling their way to the surface but he managed to push them back into the dark nooks of his mind.

He didn't have to search for too long, the big root was still there, at the same place it ever was. According to the crosses Dean had put on the drawings, and if Aidan could understand his lover's intentions, there was something there for him. He kneeled on the ground and started to search the soil with his bare hands. His fingers delved in the earth with ease, the ground had been moved recently. Suddenly, his nails scratched on something hard and square in the ground: a tin box. It must have been in the ground since a couple weeks because Aidan noticed that the cover had started to rust. His heart beat accelerated as he opened it.

At the bottom of the box, there were four little bags. When Aidan took them in his hands, and he heard something clink inside it, he realized it was money, and apparently, a considerable amount of gold and silver pieces. Clearly, it was just one more of Dean's attempts to take care of him. He couldn't help but feel disappointed. What could he do with money? He didn't need money and didn't want it, he needed Dean back.

He put the tin box back in the hole, along with Dean's leather folio and buried it in the soil. By burying Dean's drawings there, he would make sure a part of his soul would rest on a place they both loved. The venerable old oak would keep it between its roots and watch over it for eternity.

The dark haired man stood up slowly and looked around at the gloomy woods; the leafless trees were draped in shrouds of fog. The scenery was almost too appropriate. It was a perfect day to leave this world. "Hold on, my love, I'll be there soon," he murmured to the nothingness. The only thing he regretted was that he should have asked Mr Armitage in his last message to make sure Aidan would be buried next to his lover on the hill behind Camden House. It was the only thing he wanted for the body that had had only the purpose to serve Dean's pleasure and comfort but would soon be an empty shell.

He walked back to the place he had left the horse and the rope. He felt determined and surprisingly not afraid, it would be over soon. When he left the clearing and stepped into the woods again, the atmosphere had changed, something had changed, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Aidan frowned for a second, alerted, but as he heard nothing around him, he resumed walking.

Once he got where he had left Jasper, Aidan stopped and froze on the spot.

The rope was gone, so was the horse.

He looked around and started to panic.

He wasn't alone. Someone had followed him into the woods and had stolen the horse. This person could make his whole plan backfire. He couldn't let anything or anyone get between him and the only door he knew to escape this world and find his lover again. He stayed there, dumbly staring at the branch where he had tied the horse's bridle-- his mind was racing, trying to figure out who could have follow him.

He stayed there, paralyzed until he heard steps and the heavy breath of a horse just behind him. He didn't have the time to turn around before he heard the angry voice.

 

"What do you think you're doing with that rope, Aidan Turner?"

Instantly, the blood drained from his body and his face blanched, his legs buckled under him and he fell to his knees on the dew covered ground. His entire being was transfixed by a violent shiver like a lightning bolt. He knew this voice -- he knew it. It was so real, surreal, but it couldn't be, this voice was lost, lost forever.

Aidan hid his face in his hands and started to shake uncontrollably. He heard something fall on the ground as if someone had jumped down from the horse's back. He couldn't turn around and look-- he had to chase the illusion. He was clearly going crazy. His throat was tight and dry with panic and he struggled to breathe. He heard steps and someone falling, probably on their knees, to the ground in front of him.

He let out a frightened yelp, like a fox caught in a trap, when gentle hands took his wrists.

"No, No, No, No !!!," Aidan cried, shaking his head fiercely and screwing his eyes shut as the gentle hands slowly removed his own hands from his face. Then, the hands cupped his face firmly. He knew those hands, they were warm and smooth, and they were terribly familiar. He could recognize their touch anywhere. But it wasn't possible-- those hands were now nothing but burned flesh, ashes buried under the ground. "NO!" he shouted again, terrified, trying to push the hands away, to wake up, to regain consciousness from whatever dream he was caught in. It hurt too much. He felt like every touch from those hands was a stab in his heart with a rusty knife. He refused to believe it. But the hands were strong, he couldn't escape their grip and he was already weakened by grief and shock.

"Aidan… please Aidan… open your eyes," the voice demanded with concern.

But Aidan couldn't, not yet. He was shaking like a sick little lamb.

Something wet and soft was suddenly pressed against Aidan's mouth, he jumped—lips, it was lips, someone was kissing him.  
Aidan melted unconsciously in the kiss because it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted. It was like drinking after forty days in the desert. Aidan was dying of thirst and these lips were providing water so pure and so fresh it was painful.

The lips left his mouth and Aidan finally opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a pale blue gaze frowning with worry. Aidan burst in hysterical tears; there were no possible mistakes anymore. Dean was kneeling in front of him in the woods, cupping his face – it was his hands that were touching him, it was his mouth that had just kissed him.

 

"YOU ARE DEAD !!!!!" Aidan sobbed in a high-pitched voice, full of reproaches and confusion.

"I'm so sorry," Dean replied, tears of relief and guilt spilling on his own face.

"YOU WERE DEAD AND ALL YOU SAY IS THAT YOU'RE SORRY?," the farmer screamed again, his hands fisting in Dean's old used baggy clothes.

"Please stop screaming," Dean urged him, "if someone finds me, I am dead for real and there are other people's lives that depend on the fact I'm supposed to be dead"

It took a moment for Aidan to calm down, for a couple of minutes he just breathed heavily, his nostrils flaring with anger and stress, his wide eyes locked with Dean's. He finally found the strength to stand up, so did the blond.

"Dean," Aidan simply said in a raspy voice filled with pain as he brought his lover closer by pulling on his clothes. It wasn't gentle, it was urgent and desperate. He thought he could never be able to say that name out loud again. Aidan felt angry yet vulnerable… and scared, so scared that his lover was an illusion and that he would wake up on Armitage's carpet in front of the fire place, empty and broken.

Dean reached out a hand to caress his lover's cheek carefully, like if he was afraid to break him or elicit another panic attack. Dean gulped, trying to swallow his own tears. "I'm here, my love," he murmured. "I'm safe now, you can breathe, you can let go."

Aidan knew his dead heart had been reborn because he could feel it beating so fast it threatened to break through his ribcage and fly away into the woods like a crazy bird. There was so much of Dean in front of him and Aidan didn't know where to look. The clear blue eyes and the beautiful mind and soul behind them, the little lines on the corner of the eyes, the virile chin with his little crease in the middle, the long nose, the golden hair, the toned arms, the adorable round ears, the wrinkles on the forehead: they were all there, all still there and alive.

Aidan dragged Dean in his arms, crushing him against his chest; he was dying to feel his beloved's solid body against him. He grabbed the back of the blond's neck in an almost painful grip and dragged him in an angry, messy kiss. He devoured his mouth with total desperation. Dean responded with an equal fervor, invading the brunet's mouth with a demanding tongue, claiming back what was truthfully his. Dean moaned when Aidan lifts him up in his arms and deepened the kiss even more. Neither of them wanted this kiss to end – Dean possessing Aidan's mouth and Aidan conquering Dean's lips. It wasn't really about kissing, it was more than that. The contact of their mouths savoring each other with such abandon was lighting a fire inside their body and soul and in this fire, they forged their bond again, maybe stronger that it ever was. The only thing Aidan regretted was that he couldn't kiss Dean and feast his eyes on him at the same time.

They finally parted and Aidan put Dean down, still keeping him against him, a part of him scared that if he let him go, he would never see him again. The smaller man was clinging to his lover's coat, he couldn't let him go either.

"But how?," Aidan finally asked, his face buried in Dean's neck, his breath heavy, "how come you didn't burn in that fire ? I saw your remains being buried, I was there. It's not possible. Please tell me it's possible, that you are really here to stay. I can't lose you again."

 

____________________________

_50 hours earlier…_

 

"You have to tell me, O'Gorman, I need to know what happened under that tree," Mc Tavish pressed him.

Dean frowned but stayed quiet.

"Why don't you want to talk? It is not like you have anything to lose," the Scotsman pointed out.

"Yes, I still have much to lose," Dean objected with a neutral voice.

"What?"

"I guess you are smart enough to figure it out by yourself," Dean snorted. He didn't want to have this conversation. He had a bad feeling about it. He knew McTavish didn't mean to be rude, but Dean wanted to spend the last hours of his life thinking about the happy memories while he still had the time, not being lectured by his jailor.

"Young Turner, he is the reason, isn't he?" the taller man asked.

Dean nodded and looked away. He knew that the prison guard would not leave him in peace until he talked.

Clearly, McTavish didn't have any intention of sparing Dean. "Is that true, what they say in town: that you are fucking him and other men, too?" he attacked again.

"Why do you want to know that?" Dean groaned, suspicious. Aidan wasn't safe yet, and an admission coming from Dean could turn the rumors of buggery into real accusations and Aidan could he arrested for that crime.

"I won't repeat it, I swear, I just need to know the truth," the jailor reassured him, softening a little bit.

"Why? So you won't feel too guilty when you will put me in that cart and lead me to the rope tomorrow?" Dean retorted, bitter.

"I only seek the truth," McTavish objected, "I want to know if my hands will be stained with the blood of a guilty man or an innocent. I will watch you die tomorrow, Dean, but don't think I will enjoy it… "

Dean sighed and he fetched the small wooden stool that he had in his cell and brought him near to the barred door so he could sit closer to McTavish. He ran a hand through his short hair. "Well, I guess you will be relieved to know that I'm guilty then…" the blond said quietly.

The other didn't answer and just looked at him, waiting.

"At least, I'm guilty of one thing: Aidan is my lover. But these rumors are false on one important thing; I never bed any other man. Aidan had been my only lover and he had given consent to this relationship, I never forced him into anything." Dean lifted his head and glared at the taller man. "Though, if anyone else confronted me about that, I would deny what I just told you, I would lie and tell them I raped Aidan repeatedly, made his life a living hell and that he never wanted to sleep with me. Even under torture I would have maintained this version."

"They would have never believed that," McTavish argued, "not with the determination and tenacity Turner put into seeing you once again." As Dean didn't answer and kept on holding his gaze, the older man spoke again: " Why would you be ready to die a hundred deaths and be tortured for another man?"

Dean tilted his head to the side and smiled sadly, "Wouldn't you be ready to do the same for your wife?"

"Of course I would," McTavish groaned, "because it's my wife and I love her. Turner isn't your wife. That's not the same thing. Men are not made to be in love with other men, it's insane, it goes against nature, against God's creation."

Dean rubbed his forehead; this discussion was pointless and exhausting. "I don't pretend I understand God's will… maybe he made a mistake when he allowed me and Aidan to live on this earth at the same time. But I do love him, McTavish, with all my heart, I'm in love with him."

"Did you try… not to be that way?" the bald man asked.

The prisoner let out a humorless laugh, "God knows I did… when I was a soldier, my comrades took me to a brothel one day. I've never been able to have my way with the girl they bought for me… so we just talked." He chuckled again at the embarrassing memory.

"And it doesn't disgust you, having your way with another man? I don't understand," the jailor questioned him.

"I don't expect you to understand," Dean snapped with fire and annoyance in his eyes, "because I don't really understand it either! Like it or not, that's just the way it is. The love, desire and attachment you feel for your wife, I feel the same for Aidan, even if he has the body of a man! I want to touch him, caress him and kiss him, but I also want him to be safe and to have a good life! I want him to be happy and I would die a thousand times if it would help him to do so!"

The Scot's eyes widened and he stayed speechless for a moment. He was clearly shaken and taken aback by Dean's fiery speech. He cocked a brow, "You want him to be safe more than everything, huh? Is that why you killed two men and pleaded guilty for three murders? To protect Aidan who broke the Barker kid's skull with a rock by accident while he was trying to escape from the bastards who wanted to skin him? "

It was Dean's turn to stay speechless as he felt the fear twisting his guts; nobody knew that, nobody but Aidan… and Armitage… ARMITAGE!!! "How do you..?" Dean began, trying to containing the shaking of his hands.

"Armitage… " McTavish breathed, confirming the artist's suspicions.

Dean blanched, he had failed, he had left his little raven in the hands on an infamous traitor, Aidan was in danger. He had sincerely thought the bookseller would protect Aidan when he would be gone, now he knew he could cause his lover be arrested.

Dean clenched his fists and stood up slowly, ready to punch, tear apart and kill anybody who could threaten his Aidan, he would do it again in the blink of an eye, but what could he do from inside this prison? He glared at the taller man who hadn't moved but was watching him with a slight curiosity.

"You will arrest him too," the blond hissed, "is that it McTavish? You will kill him? You will sell him to the evil in disguise that rules this town and dares to call himself a pastor?"

The prison guard stood up, too and faced his prisoner, his face flush with anger "Who do you think I am, O'Gorman? You think I am one of Reverend Blackhawk's puppets? You try to insult me? Do you know what his son did?"

"No, I don't!" Dean retorted.

"He tried to dishonor my precious girl! " the Scot roared. Then he took a deep breath, sat back on his improvised seat and started to explain:

"One day when my wife was gone and I was at the forge, Timothy Blackhawk sneaked into my garden and tried to assault my eldest daughter while she was taking care of the chickens. He pinned her to the wall being the hen house and told her that if she screamed, he would tell everybody he had seen me raping her and then his father would get me arrested and hanged. But my Martha is a clever girl and she kicked him where it hurts a man the most. She ran to the forge and she was in tears when she told me what happened. I found the bastard and threatened him that if he approached my family again, I would separate his head from his body with my bare hands. I couldn't go to the court, I didn't have any proof. I know it would be the pastor's word against mine, and he has much more influence and power than me. I don't think his son told anything to anyone though, his pride was wounded since he had been beaten up by a fourteen year old lass." The prison guard smirked with pride. But his smile disappeared a second later and he sighed. "My poor little girl didn't want to leave the house anymore, even to go to the backyard and had a hard time sleeping at night. I thought she was going to be traumatized for life…. until you killed that wretch and his henchmen, and it was like she began to breathe again. She knew he couldn't touch her anymore. I guess I owe you, O'Gorman."

Dean listened to him, more and more perplexed. "I'm sorry for your girl, really. Tim Blackhawk had always been a horrible whoreson. I don't think many people are mourning him in fact. But I still had no intention of killing him … until I arrived in the meadow and saw him with his hand around Aidan's neck. He was trying to strangle him, I couldn't let him. But why are you telling me about your daughter now?"

McTavish didn't replied and just left the room, leaving Dean there alone and puzzled. When the tall man came back, he was carrying the beheaded corpse of a pig on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Saving your life," the other replied as he let the carcass fall on the ground just in front of the cell's door.

"Wh.. how… why??" the artist stuttered.

"At first, even if I knew I owed you for removing Blackhawk from this world, I didn't want to take the risk to try to save you. You are a bugger, a sodomite; you have crimes on your conscience. I didn't want to risk my life for yours, you know."

Dean nodded in silence and let him continue. It was understandable that the blacksmith wouldn't risk his life and his family's wellbeing to save him.

"And I still don't understand how you can get yourself to touch another man the way you do, and probably never will," McTavish muses, "but I can also see that you care for Turner. Since the limping bookseller came here two days ago and told me what really happened, pleading that you were innocent, I started to have compassion for you. Armitage told me something else, he told me that the man who let an innocent die is worse than the one who kills a guilty one, and I know he speaks true. I don't want to have your death on my conscience, O'Gorman, that's why I will get you out of here."

"No, you, you can't, I don't want to put you in danger!" Dean objected.

"Shut up!" the prison guard cut him, "if you do exactly what I say, no one will ever know. You must promise me that you will follow my instructions without asking any question, or else I leave you there and tomorrow you will wear a pretty hemp necklace."

Dean gulped slowly, this man wasn't joking, and if it could really help him to return to Aidan and be sure he was fine, he would do anything he would ask him.

"Right," he agreed, "what do I have to do?"

McTavish took something from the pocket of his coat, he threw it into the air and caught it with a manic grin. Dean's gaze followed his gesture and wondered why his jailor was playing with a lighter.

"Turner was carrying it in his pocket," he explained, "I pinned him to the wall and searched him as soon as he entered the prison. He doesn't know I have it but it gave me a brilliant idea," the older man smirked, his chest out and the manic grin still plastered on his face, "we are going to make you roast you like a pig, my lad!"

Dean's eyes widened, no doubt possible now, the man was crazy.

The guard took his keys and unlocked the cell's door and Dean took a step back, following the other man's gestures with narrow eyes. The Scotsman dragged the pig into the cell to the heap of straw and left it there. "Follow me, we don't have much time," he ordered.  
Dean didn't have any other choice but to follow him, eyebrows furrowed and lips tightened in a straight nervous line. As he stepped out of his cell he pondered that he never thought he would leave it that early.

They got to the food supply room and McTavish didn't waste any time. He threw one of the barrels over and the water mixed with pig blood spilled on the clay ground. As soon as it was empty, he turned to Dean.

"Get in the barrel."

"What?"

"You want to live? Do as I ask and get in the barrel," the blacksmith groaned.

Dean didn't make any comment and stepped in the barrel, he sat in it, his legs bent in a rather uncomfortable foetal position.  
"Don't move, don't breathe, whatever you feel, or hear, or smell, don't make a single noise until I open this barrel again or we'll both be good for the gallows," the blacksmith ordered him. Dean nodded.

Luckily, the cover Mc Tavish put on the top of the barrel had little holes in it so he still could breathe. Dean was now in the dark, stuck in a humid barrel as he listen to the frightening sound of a hammer on the wooden cover of the barrel as the prison guard sealed it closed.

Dean was rolled in the barrel outside the prison and put on a cart along with other barrels. He could feel the jolts of the road as McTavish was leading the cart elsewhere. Then, it stopped and all became quiet, until Dean noticed a faint smell of smoke and hear people shouting. That's when he understood what his savior's plan was. Dean obeyed to the orders and for almost sixteen hours, Dean sat still, breathing as low as possible. It was torturously long and he was freezing. He tried as much as possible to restrain his shaking and at some point he was convinced he would die inside this barrel. His new wooden prison must have contained cider or something once, because fermented apple was everything he could smell and it made him nauseous. He swore to himself that if he got out of this alive, he would never eat an apple again.

When finally, the prison guard opened the barrel, Dean was miserable but he had enough strength to heave a sigh of relief. For a moment, he thought he wouldn't be able to stand up. His whole body was sore and stiff and it took him an awful long time just to unfold his legs.

It was night again, had spent the entire day in that damn barrel. "Where are we?" Dean asked, disoriented.

"In the woods, East of the town," McTavish hastened to reply. He shoved a bag in the blond's arms. "There is food, clothes and a blanket in it."

"Thanks, thank you so much," Dean stuttered. He couldn't believe he was free.

"You better be grateful--I burned a prison down for you, I also burned my own hand to make it more credible, " the bald man replied. "Now disappear," he ordered, "I don't want to see you or hear about you ever again, is that clear? Don't come back in town, ever, not to see Turner, not at all. If you return here, I'll have to kill you and hide your body. Now you have my life in your hands, O'Gorman, don't make me regret my decision."

"Understood. Farewell, Mr McTavish."

"Farewell, laddie."

________________________________________________  
"I cannot believe you're really here, Dean." Aidan's big calloused hand was covering all the side of Dean's face.

The blond leaned into the touch, closed his eyes, rubbed his cheek on the palm of Aidan's hand. "Jesus, Aidan! I had lost you. I really thought I had lost you forever."

"So did I !"

Dean eyes hardened, clearly, he was still upset. "Don't you ever do that to me again, Aidan. You deserve to live. There are good things in life other than me. "

Aidan looked away guiltily.

"Promise me you won't try to kill yourself again, no matter what happens. Promise me you will always keep faith. Promise me!" Dean insisted.

"I promise," Aidan breathed and Dean sealed his lips on his lover's to seal that pact. Aidan couldn't help but marvel at his lover's power of forgiveness.

Dean stepped back and looked at his stallion that was now busy grazing what he could find in the woods. "We must get rid of the horse…" he said in a sigh.

"Why?"

"I will lead him to the road," Dean explained, taking the stallion by the bridle, "he knows the road to return home by heart. If we keep him with us, my father will chase you for horse theft, that's the last thing I want."

They walked to the road and when they were sure there was nobody around, Aidan gave Dean some privacy for him to say farewell to his horse friend.

Dean spoke to the stallion softly. Aidan didn't hear the words but it was not his business anyway, they were meant to stay between the two of them: the blond man and the strong animal. Dean put a gentle slap on Jasper's backside and watched him trot down the road toward the town until the horse disappeared in the fog with a last neigh that echoed in the cold air.

"Will you regret that life?" Aidan asked with a soft voice as he joined Dean and passed his arms around him from behind.

"I don't think so," Dean muses, "It was Dean O'Gorman's life and he is dead for good."

"Who are you then?"

"The only person I ever had the ambition to be," he said, turning around to face Aidan, he took the brunet's chin between his forefinger and thumb and dragged him down in order to plant a gentle kiss on his lips, "your beloved."

Dean offered him the first real smile Aidan had seen in his face for what seemed an eternity, a beautiful, wide smile framed with adorable dimples – a lively smile full on hope. Despite that smile that made Aidan feel warm as if the sun had finally pierced through the fog, he couldn't help, now that he was seeing his lover in the daylight, but notice that he looked exhausted, almost sick. The subtle roundness of his belly, that Aidan enjoyed teasing Dean about, but liked to caress a lot, had disappeared. The artist looked scrawny, his cheeks hollowed. Aidan carded his fingers in his lover's hair and Dean purred like a weak kitten. Aidan vowed that as soon as he could, he would feed him, warm him up and pleasure him back to health. Although he knew that neither of them would never really be the same as they were before all of this happened.

"You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, you know that?" Aidan said fondly.

"Are you wooing me, Aidan Turner?," Dean smirked.

"You said Dean O'Gorman was dead," the farmer pointed out with a teasing tone, "thus I see no harm in trying to seduce the beautiful man who stands in front of me!"

"No harm indeed, " the blond acknowledged, snuggling in Aidan's arms with an ecstatic sigh.

"What do we do now?," Aidan asked, resting his chin on the top of Dean's head.

"I will leave St.Peter and go far away from here," Dean murmured, his eyes closed and his head resting heavily on Aidan's shoulder, where it was meant to be.

"If you leave, you know I'm coming with you," Aidan warned him.

"You still have a choice, you know," the artist told him.

"And you know I choose you, always," Aidan replied stubbornly.

"Your loyalty honors you, my gem," Dean murmured, a smile in his voice.

"Where do we go then?"

"I don't know yet," Dean pondered. He just knew he had to go where nobody could recognize him.

"What about Ireland?" Aidan suggested, "what about the west coast of Clare's county?"

"Like in the song? " Dean asked, looking at Aidan from underneath with dreamy eyes.

"Why not? You always wanted to go to Ireland," the younger man pointed, pressing his lips on his lover's hairline, inhaling his scent like one would do with a rare flower.

"Humm, I suppose it's a good idea," the artist mused.

They jumped slightly when they heard a branch cracking in the woods. Maybe it was just a deer or a partridge, but they couldn't take the chance.

"We shouldn't stay here for too long, you know," Dean said urgently, leaving his lover's warm arms reluctantly, "we have to move before the sun is too high in the sky. If we travel by night, within two or three days we will reach lands where no one knows us."

They returned to the tree and Dean took the money and his folio from under the tree's root. "With that, we will be able to cover our needs for at least a few months, maybe even a year, and pay the passage on the boat to Ireland," he explained, shoving the bags of money in Aidan's coat pockets, "and then, when we will run out of money, I will try to sell my drawings."

"It doesn't scare you?" the brunet asked.

"No, as long as I'm with you I'm not scared. And I've had far worse experiences recently."

Aidan nodded. "To Ireland then?" he asked.

"To the west!" Dean confirmed, putting an arm around his lover's waist and dragging him away.

As they left the clearing, Aidan took a last look over his shoulder at the old oak. He would never forget this place, nor would he forget all the other things this tree had been the witness of -- the precious and beautiful memories and the terrible ones. The past was behind, but the world was ahead. His future was this beautiful man who was walking beside him, a hand curled on his hip in a slightly possessive gesture, like he was afraid the younger man could vanish into thin air any moment.

"You know what, my love?" Dean asked him playfully, "Since Dean O'Gorman is dead, we should change our names and tell people that…. I don't know… that we are brothers?"

Aidan cocked a brow, "Brothers? Look at us!! You with your golden hair and blue eyes and me, all dark and skinny, no one will ever believe we are related! "

"You could be surprised what people can believe," the older man objected, "in fact, I think we make very credible brothers. And besides, nobody will question the fact two brothers are always together don't you think?"

"I'm glad I still have you," Aidan whispered, in awe, looking at the blond man's features. He felt so lucky that he had been allowed to have his Dean back. "I love you more than anything, you know that right? " Aidan asked him, putting an arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

"As I love and value you more than my own life," Dean replied, "I can't promise that everything will be fine from now on. But 'loving you no matter what happens'? That is a promise I can keep," he vowed. As he was still walking by his side; Dean dragged Aidan down a bit in order to plant a kiss on his lover's temple as they made their way through the foggy woods.

On the highest branch of the old oak, a raven threw a single cry to the cloudy morning sky. It jumped off the branch and traced wide circles in the air as it went down to land in the meadow. The black bird jumped a couple leaps on the yellowed grass, its head tilted to the side. A red spot had attracted the curious bird's attention. It used its beak to dig out the object that was half buried in the soil. The animal couldn't know that he had found a little tin soldier -- a toy lost by a little boy decades ago. However, the clever bird found it fascinating. He took it in its beak carefully, opened his dark wings and flew to the West, never to return.

 

The End.

 

… but not quite because there is an epilogue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the people who read this story. Thanks for your feedback and don't forget to read the epilogue.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER (ch.7) BEFORE READING THAT EPILOGUE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wales, January 11, 1708 

 

My dear uncle Richard,

I'm writing to you to give you some news of me and my dear brother. We are still on the road to Ireland but we haven't left Wales yet. My older brother caught a cold and we were forced to stop in an inn for two weeks. He is back to health now and stronger than ever, I took good care of him as you can imagine. I didn't fear for him when he was sick. I just stayed by his side and held his hand. I know that as long as we are together, everything will be fine. 

My last letter probably upset you, and I wanted to apologize for that. My brother scolded me seriously on that matter. I just want you to know that I'm fine, and happy. We are both fine, and immensely grateful for what you did for us, dear uncle. 

As a testimony of our gratitude, I want to tell you what happened to us last week. 

We were in a village, three days by foot from where you are born, and we were searching for a place to stay the night. The villagers told us to go the pastor's house. That's where we met Reverend Lee Pace and his four adorable children, three beautiful girls and one son: his name is Richard. Little Richard is a clever little boy; he has nut brown hair and green eyes. When I said I loved his son's name, the pastor told me he had named his only son like that because he wanted to remember and repair a mistake he had made a long time ago. Reverend Pace is now a widower, his wife died one year ago. He is searching for someone to watch over his children and teach them to read and write but that he hadn't found anyone suitable in the villages and towns around. I thought that maybe you would want to know that, whatever you decide to do. I know how wonderful you can be as a teacher; you know how to transmit your passion for books and literature. 

I hope this letter will end up in your hands. Just know that my brother and I are going to be fine and that you don't have to worry about us. I know there will be no way for you to reply to this letter but I just wanted to send you our prayers. 

With all our love

K. and F. Duran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of a long journey for me and the boys. I really wish you loved this AU ds pite the sadness and the heartbreak. Thanks to the amazing people who took the time to write me comments, who encouraged me and cheered me up in the difficult moments. Thanks to all of you. Big hugs and love.


End file.
